UC-NRLF 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 


;  RUTH  McENERY  STUART 


HOLLY  AND   PIZEN 


'I  WONDER  EF  DAT  COULD  BE  DE  SAME  OLE  STAli!' 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 


AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY 


EUTH  McENEEY  STUART 

Author  of  "Sonny,"  "Moriah's  Mourning,"  "In 
Simpkinsville,"  "A  Golden  Wedding,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1899 


Copyright,  1898,  1899,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


Copyright,  1899,  by 
FBAXK  I.,  -I.IK  PUBLISHINO  HOUSK  (Incorporated) 

Copyright,  1899,  by 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


THE  DE  VINNE  PRESS. 


A 

LOVING   TRIBUTE 
IN  HER  OLD  AGE 

TO 
MY   MOTHER 

WHOSE  UNSELFISH  LIFE,  WHOSE  TRUST  IN 
GOD,  WHOSE  STUBBORN  FAITH  IN  HUMANITY, 
AND  WHOSE  UNCOMPROMISING  INTEGRITY 
HAVE  EVER  BEEN  MY  WONDER,  MY  INSPI 
RATION,  MY  DESPAIR,  AND  MY  STANDARD 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 1 

QUEEN  o'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 48 

A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET 93 

UNCLE  STILL'S  FAMOUS  WEATHER  PREDIC 
TION  159 

PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STORY  .  192 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


"I  WONDER  EF  DAT  COULD  BE  DE   SAME 
OLE  STAR!" Frontispiece 

PAGE 

MENDING  THE  NET  IN  THE  AUTUMN  AFTER 
NOONS     19 

"I   'M  A-SUFFERIN'  FROM  A   CASE  O'  GEN 
ERAL  SWELLIN'" 25 

"  Do  You  MEAN  TO  SAY  THAT  You  REALLY 
DO  TAKE  PEOPLE'S  DISEASES  FROM  THEM  1 "    39 

SHE  HAD  DROPPED  HER  KNITTING  IN  HER 
LAP 121 

"ARE  You  SHORE  You  DOUBT?"  ....  155 

APOLLO  TRIED  TO  SPEAK,  BUT  HE  COULD 
NOT  .  185 


HOLLY  AND   PIZEN 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 


[OLE  'RIAH  WASHINGTON  was 

a  healer  of  diseases  on  the  planta 
tion,  and  although  he  practised  his 
profession  without  degree  or  license,  the  peo 
ple  believed  in  him ;  and  the  fact  that  he 
"  did  n't  know  B  from  a  bull's  foot  "  was 
rather  in  his  favor  with  his  unlettered  con 
stituency. 

It  is  something,  surely,  to  receive  one's 
authority  directly  from  on  high,  without  the 
inadequate  and  ofttimes  unfaithful  medium 
of  books.  So  they  thought,  and  so  assented 
Uncle  'Riah ;  "  for,"  he  argued,  "  who  knows 
whether  all  deze  heah  book-writers  is  got  de 
divine  license  or  not,  an'  ain't  jes  a-makin' 
up  as  dey  go  along  ?  Dey  say  de  devil  don't 
want  no  better  tool  'n  a  pen  to  work  wid, 
nohow— jes  git  some  po'  fool-human  simple 
enough  to  sign  what  he  choose  to  signify." 


;2  ;  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

This  was  a  brave  defense,  but  it  only  voiced 
the  faith  of  his  simple  followers. 

Of  course  'Riah  had  never  hung  out  a  sign, 
nor  had  he  been  known  to  present  bills  for 
services.  Even  had  he  been  inclined  to  re 
duce  his  benefactions  to  terms  of  money, 
and  able  to  cast  them  in  the  ordinary  offen 
sive  form,  the  offended  parties  would  have 
needed  interpreters  to  discover  the  extent 
of  their  injuries.  'Riah  did  not  even  call 
himself  a  doctor,  and  although  the  "  chimbly 
end "  of  his  one-roomed  cabin  was  a  sort  of 
home-made  pharmacy,  redolent  of  the  fra 
grant  herbs  that  dried  in  bunches  about  his 
mantel  or  were  brewing  in  the  numerous 
tomato-cans  that  dotted  his  hearth,  he  sel 
dom  administered  physic  to  a  patient.  His 
system  of  medicine  was  his  own,  and  it 
seems  to  have  been  this : 

Seeing  disease  with  his  mind's  eyes  within 
the  body  of  a  sufferer,  he  "  opened  the  doors 
of  his  own  life  to  it,"  inviting  it  in,  and  leaving 
the  patient  to  go  on  his  way  rejoicing.  This, 
he  explained,  he  could  not  have  dared  but 
for  the  fact  that,  when  God  had  given  him 
"  the  eye  of  insight,"  he  had  also  bestowed  a 
body  of  exceptional  "  robustiousness." 

It  is  one  thing  to  take  a  disease,  and  quite 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  3 

another  for  a  disease  to  take  you,  or,  to  bor 
row  his  own  figure,  "  hit  7s  all  right  to  take 
boa'ders,  jes  so  you  don't  let  'emkeep  house." 

When  he  had  once  received  a  disease  into 
his  own  body,  there  to  await  elimination  by 
the  ordinary  processes  of  medicine  and  sani 
tation,  he  held  it  as  a  thing  apart,— at  arm's- 
length,  so  to  speak,— and  no  matter  how 
many  of  these  guests  there  might  happen  to 
be  living,  or  dying,  in  his  hospitable  frame, 
there  was  never  for  a  moment  a  question  as  to 
who  was  master.  Neither  was  there  a  differ 
ence  between  charity-patients  and  others,  in 
this  regard.  It  is  only  fair  to  say,  however, 
that  most  of  his  were  not  charity-patients— 
that  is,  not  in  any  offensive  sense. 

When  there  was  much  sickness  on  the 
bayou,  'Riah  was  usually  a  groaning,  limp 
ing  embodiment  of  assorted  ills,  many  of 
which  would  seem  to  have  been  essentially 
incompatible,  as,  for  instance,  a  chill  and  a 
fever,  both  of  which  he  did  not  hesitate  to 
declare  raging  within  him  at  the  same  time. 
Of  course  they  were  of  "  different  sets,"  as 
he  expressed  it,— that  is  to  say,  no  chill  came 
at  the  same  time  with  its  own  particular 
fever,— but  this  did  not  prevent  the  crossing 
of  separate  attacks,  and  although  it  may  at 


4  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

first  appear  that  such  a  combination  would 
be  disastrous,  the  reverse  seems  to  have  been 
the  case,  and  the  old  man  would  suffer  only  to 
the  degree  that  Tom's  chill  was  harder  than 
Dick's  fever,  or  the  reverse;  and,  indeed, 
there  were  times  when  they  so  nearly  bal 
anced  that  he  would  not  have  known  "  when 
they  het  up  or  cooled  off "  but  for  the  brief 
periods  of  heat  or  chill  at  the  beginning  and 
the  end.  As  he  said  himself,  "dey  can't  no 
mo'  'n  cancellize  so  fur  as  dey  laps,"  and,  of 
course,  they  rarely  struck  at  precisely  the 
same  moment.  Manifestly  Uriah's  periods 
of  greatest  affliction  were  those  of  his  finest 
triumphs,  as  for  every  ill  he  endured  there 
was  presumably  a  prisoner  of  pain  set  free. 

In  such  a  system  as  this  it  was  particularly 
essential  that  there  should  be  living  witnesses 
to  attest  its  efficacy.  Nor  were  they  want 
ing.  For  example,  when  he  sat  within  his 
front  door  with  his  swollen  leg  wrapped  in 
flannels  and  raised  to  a  chair  for  support, 
and  declared  with  groans  that  he  was  "  suf- 
ferin'  wid  Aunt  Salina  Sue's  milk-leg,"  and 
everybody  knew  that  the  hitherto  limping 
Salina  had  the  wreek  before  actually  thrown 
her  baby  into  a  neighbor's  lap  and  danced  at 
her  own  wedding— 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  5 

Well,  seeing  is  believing. 

It  was  but  natural  that  the  ailment  in 
question  should  have  been  somewhat  exag 
gerated  in  the  transfer,  and  for  several  rea 
sons.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  one  that  could 
hardly  have  been  indigenous,  and  any  exotic 
takes  time  to  adjust  itself  to  new  conditions. 
In  this  instance,  too,  the  difficulties  of  read 
justment  were  no  doubt  further  heightened 
by  the  fact  that  it  was  grafted  on  to  a  case 
of  dropsy  that  Uriah  had  taken  from  the 
Baptist  minister.  And  even  back  of  this 
were  further  complications,  for,  as  he  would 
have  told  you  himself,  he  was  already  "  suf- 
ferin'  wid  information  o'  de  lungs  an7  pleurisy 
o'  de  breath "  before  he  relieved  the  Baptist 
man,  and  for  some  of  these  affections  he  was 
constrained  to  employ  remedies  distinctly  at 
war  with  the  milk-leg. 

The  doctor  who  could  exhibit  half  a  dozen 
diseases  in  his  own  body  at  the  same  time, 
and  combat  them  without  confusion  by  the 
employment  of  such  simples  as  he  culled 
from  the  wood,  seems  to  have  merited  all 
the  respect  he  enjoyed,  and,  indeed,  there 
were  some  who,  knowing  the  old  man's  pov 
erty,  felt  that  he  was  inadequately  paid  for  a 
life  so  freely  shared  with  his  fellow-man. 


6  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

Indeed,  there  seems  to  have  been  no  limit 
to  his  generosity  in  assuming  pain,  for  did 
he  not  once  even  intercept  a  case  of  fever  on 
its  way  to  a  neighboring  well-digger,  taking 
it  thus  in  all  its  malignity,  wholly  unspent, 
and  incurring  a  six  weeks'  case  which  nearly 
got  the  better  of  him,  according  to  the  re 
ports  of  such  as  saw  him  in  its  toils.  There 
is  no  reason  to  doubt  this  statement,  and, 
indeed,  the  only  man  who  had  the  temerity 
to  do  so  was  even  the  ungrateful  neighbor 
whose  very  immunity  made  good  the  claim 
of  the  vicarious  sufferer.  This  was,  of  all  his 
cases,  the  one  that  put  the  old  man's  robus- 
tiousness  to  the  severest  test ;  but  although 
he  came  out  of  it  gray  about  the  lips  and  with 
trembling  hands,  his  invincible  spirit  was  in 
no  wise  disturbed.  Even  before  he  had  been 
able  to  rise  from  his  bed,  he  had  assumed  the 
"  seven  years'  shortness  of  breath "  of  the 
man  who  sat  up  with  him,  and  taken  the 
wasp-sting  from  yellow  Frances's  cow  after  it 
had  "traveled  round  in  her  circulation"  all 
day,  the  only  thing  he  required  of  her  being 
to  cover  the  stung  spot  with  mud  compounded 
of  earth  and  tobacco- juice,  "to  keep  de  pizen 
f  om  gittin'  into  de  milk." 

It  did  not  get  into  the  milk,  and  this  late  in- 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  7 

terception  was  considered  almost  as  wonder 
ful  as  his  cure  of  Slim  Sam's  little  Sam  of 
lockjaw.  The  junior  Sam  had  always  been 
subject  to  spells  of  unconsciousness  when 
things  went  wrong  with  him,  and  these  gener 
ally  set  them  right ;  but  after  a  time  he  felt 
himself  losing  ground,  when  he  recovered  his 
sway  through  the  lockjaw  development. 

On  the  occasion  in  question,  the  little  fellow 
professed  to  have  trodden  on  a  thorn  ;  but  of 
this  some  were  skeptical  until  Uriah,  after 
sitting  in  stiff-jawed  silence  for  nine  days, 
drew  the  thorn  from  the  sole  of  his  own  foot, 
and  not  until  it  lay  in  his  trembling  palm 
was  his  speech  restored.  This  story,  thorn 
and  all,  was  vouched  for  by  seven  witnesses, 
two  of  whom,  at  least,  would  not  exaggerate, 
and  all  the  seven  agreed  furthermore  that 
the  thorn  was  blunted  in  the  point  and  twice 
bent. 

Of  course  there  were  some  who,  in  spite  of 
everything,  refused  to  believe  in  the  old  man 
Uriah ;  but  we  find  skeptics  even  in  matters 
of  religion.  We  are  all  skeptical  of  some 
things — a  terrible  fact  to  realize.  Uriah's 
followers  were  all  of  his  own  race — that  is, 
all  excepting  one  family  of  poor  whites  who 
lived  beyond  the  palmetto  marsh,  in  the  bot- 


8  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

torn-lands ;  but  the  Buttons  were  clay-eaters, 
and  had  n't  blood  enough  in  their  bodies  to 
disbelieve  anything.  It  is  certainly  true  that 
when  Button's  wife  had  what  Uriah  diag 
nosed  as  "  scoldin'  hysterics  an'  mor'bun'  ap 
petites/'  and  had  grown  so  bad  that  even  her 
husband  could  hardly  live  with  her,  he  did 
fetch  her  to  the  old  "  yarb-kyorer,"  and  she 
went  home  quieted  down  and  in  a  submissive 
state  of  mind,  while  'Riah  took  such  a  spell  of 
scolding  that  nothing  but  a  basket  of  fresh 
mushrooms,  gathered  from  Button's  field 
while  the  dew  lay  on  them,  and  brought  to 
him  daily  by  the  ailing  woman,  kept  the  dis 
ease  in  check  until  he  could  "  git  it  subjuded 
down  an'  broke  up." 

If  it  was  true  that  prior  to  his  treatment 
the  lady  Button  did  nothing  but  "set  in  de 
door  an'  eat  dirt,"  as  he  affirmed,  it  is  pos 
sible  that  the  daily  walk  of  two  miles  in  the 
sun  had  something  to  do  with  her  restoration. 
At  any  rate,  there  is  no  question  of  her  suc 
cessful  treatment,  for  she  told  it  herself,  con 
fessing  every  detail  of  her  implied  ailment 
excepting  one.  It  was  said  that,  when  the 
old  man  took  her  tantrums,  he  threw  knives 
and  forks  about  promiscuously,  and  this,  she 
protested,  "  if  he  did  it,  it  was  n't  on  account 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  9 

of  Tier  hysterics,  for  the  only  knife  she  ever 
th'owed  was  n't  to  say  no  mo'  'n  a  handle, 
the  blade  bein'  that  wore  away." 

Of  course,  in  a  position  so  unique  as  that 
of  the  old  man  Uriah,  there  were  trials  other 
than  those  legitimately  belonging  to  his  pro 
fession.  Sometimes  the  young  men  along 
the  bayou— that  is  to  say,  the  white  men- 
thought  it  would  be  fun  to  tease  him  j  but 
they  were  generally  worsted  in  the  encoun 
ters,  for  although  he  was  of  lowly  mind  and 
a  bearer  of  ills  galore,  Uriah  was  a  wielder 
of  two-edged  words  on  provocation,  and  of 
personal  fear  he  had  no  knowledge.  Indeed, 
he  had  no  need  of  it,  really;  for  there  was 
something  in  his  age  and  isolation  that  estab 
lished  relations  that  were  kindly,  even  though 
they  were  slight,  between  him  and  such  of 
the  better  class  as  passed  his  door,  and  nearly 
all  the  small  coins  that  crossed  his  old  palm 
were  their  gratuities.  But  without  these 
trifling  benefactions,  which  were  indeed  too 
insignificant  to  be  taken  into  account  at  all 
excepting  as  an  indication  of  feeling,  there 
was  no  danger  of  the  old  healer's  ever 
being  in  want  so  long  as  he  had  a  patient. 

A  fundamental  thought  in  Uriah's  system 
was  that,  in  case  he  should  ever  die  with  any 


10  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

of  their  discarded  diseases  in  him,  they  would 
instantly  return  to  their  original  possessors. 
It  became  Salina  Sue's  care,  therefore,  to  see 
that  he  was  duly  nourished  through  the  slow 
process  of  treatment  for  her  discarded  lame 
ness  ;  and,  as  he  generally  entertained  several 
resident  ailments  at  the  same  time,  and  each 
had  its.  guardian  angel,  he  was  blessed  with 
a  protective  body-guard  quite  adequate  to  the 
modest  needs  of  his  simple  life.  There  were 
some  diseases  that  required  warm  clothing 
and  occasionally  a  bit  of  stimulant,  and  while 
he  asked  outright  for  nothing,  it  was  but  fair 
to  his  patients  to  let  them  know  the  only 
means  by  which  their  relief  might  become 
permanent. 

When  he  took  a  disease  home  and  boarded 
it,  he  could  look  after  it  properly.  While 
some  things  needed  discipline,  there  were 
others,  as,  for  instance,  the  morbid  appetite, 
that  required  "satisfaction,"  and  the  same 
intelligently  administered. 

Of  course  there  were  times  when  he  was 
unfortunate,  as  when  he  took  panting  Pol 
ly's  palpitations  the  week  before  she  was 
drowned,  and  had  to  struggle  along  with 
them  alone  until  some  one  else  brought  him 
a  similar  case  the  needs  of  which  about  cov- 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  11 

ered  the  ground.  And,  as  in  all  relations  in 
life,  there  were  a  few  cases  of  forgetfulness 
and  ingratitude.  One  of  these,  indeed,  was 
so  flagrant  that  Uriah,  after  struggling  awhile 
with  the  forgotten  malady,  sent  it  flying  back 
home,  and  when  he  was  induced  to  assume  it 
a  second  time,  there  was  no  further  cause  for 
complaint.  Who  would  not,  if  he  could, 
send  his  rheumatism  out  to  board  rather 
than  entertain  it  in  his  own  body? 

From  the  fact  of  his  isolation  it  may  ap 
pear  that  the  old  man  Uriah  was  by  choice  a 
hermit,  yet  such  is  by  no  means  the  truth. 
The  fact  is,  he  had  been  three  times  married 
—twice  in  his  early  life,  when  he  was  widow- 
ered,  so  to  speak,  in  the  best  way,  even  though 
it  be  the  saddest,  and  a  third  time,  when  his 
bereavement  was  less  regular  and  was  at 
tended  by  circumstances  which  in  a  commu 
nity  of  greater  sensitiveness  in  such  matters 
might  have  been  embarrassing. 

The  mate  of  his  maturity  was  fully  his 
age,  and,  it  does  seem,  ought  to  have  known 
her  own  mind.  However,  after  struggling  for 
several  winters  with  the  diseases  of  the  com 
munity  as  they  were  brought  home  to  her,  she 
finally  grew  weary,  and  one  day  she  quietly 
walked  off  and  left  her  lord  alone,  declaring 


12  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

simply  that  she  "  had  done  lost  her  taste  for 
him." 

This  was  bad  enough;  but  when  it  is 
known  that  she  did  not  go  alone,  but  was 
ably  escorted  by  the  bronze-colored  half-In 
dian  who  left  his  phthisic  with  the  deserted 
husband,  it  is  hard  to  forgive  her.  Even 
had  there  been  no  other  man  in  the  case,  it 
would  seem  that  her  excuse  was  inadequate 
to  the  crime  of  doubly  breaking  her  regis 
tered  vow  to  stand  by  him  of  her  choice  "  in 
sickness  and  in  health."  Manifestly  the  man 
of  always  ultimate  robustiousness,  who  enter 
tained  all  manners  of  sicknesses,  was  peren 
nially  in  both  conditions,  "  in  sickness  and  in 
health,"  and  a  more  sensitive  soul  than  she 
would  have  realized  herself  thus  twice  bound. 

ABOUT  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  'Riah's  cabin, 
beyond  the  Cherokee  hedge  that  marked  the 
turn  of  the  road,  was  the  Bradshaw  place. 
Here  lived  the  brothers  Teddy  and  Tim  Brad 
shaw,  two  manly  but  mischievous  young 
scamps,  aged  respectively  about  seventeen 
and  nineteen.  They  had  been  away  at  school 
for  several  seasons,  returning  only  for  vaca 
tions  and  holidays,  when  they  usually  brought 
several  of  their  schoolmates  home  with  them ; 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  13 

and  when  they  were  "in  town/7  which  is  to 
say,  on  the  bayou,  there  was  a  general  feeling* 
in  the  community  that  there  was  no  knowing 
what  a  day  would  bring  forth.  The  old  man 
Uriah  had  once  been  the  property  of  a  re 
mote  connection  of  the  Bradshaw  family,  and 
though  the  thread  was  slight  which  thus  con 
nected  him  with  the  past  regime,  it  was  strong 
enough  to  establish  relations  with  traditions 
that  counted  for  much  in  his  scant  estate. 

The  Christmas  eve  of  the  year 'of  the  mem 
orable  freeze  which  killed  nearly  all  the 
orange-trees  in  Louisiana  was  a  bleak  day  on 
Cherokee  Bayou.  Even  at  the  "  white  end," 
around  the  turn,  where  conditions  were  bet 
ter,  it  was  a  day  to  remember,  and  many  an 
old  resident  who  never  thought  of  such  a 
thing  as  keeping  a  diary  took  out  his  account- 
book  and  "  put  it  down  "  in  marginal  notes. 
In  the  negro  settlement,  for  the  first  time  in 
the  history  of  things,  the  cabin  doors  were 
kept  more  or  less  closed,  and  the  inhabitants 
went  about  wrapped  in  gray  blankets  bor 
rowed  from  their  beds,  and  were  gray  about 
their  steaming  lips,  while  they  chaffed  one 
another  in  the  road.  There  were  Christmas 
preparations  going  on  in  most  of  the  cabins 
to-day,  and  from  more  than  one  emanated  the 


14  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

odor  of  burning  feathers.  There  had  been 
other  times  when,  for  prudential  reasons,  the 
Christmas  turkeys  had  been  plucked  indoors 
and  their  feathers  burned  as  they  fell,  even 
when  there  was  nothing  wrong  with  the  mer 
cury  ;  but  the  burning  of  witnesses  is  nothing 
new  in  Christendom. 

Whether  it  were  in  the  heavy  odor  of 
smoking  feathers,  or  the  sweet  scent  of  mo 
lasses  cooking  itself  into  holiday  shape,  or  the 
even  more  suggestive  composite  fragrance  of 
frying-pan  and  oven,  all  but  one  of  the  bayou 
chimneys  bore  witness  to  the  anticipation  of 
the  day  of  days. 

Only  in  Uncle  'Riah's  cabin  was  there  no 
thing  discernible  by  the  olfactory  sense  to 
mark  the  season— and  for  very  comfortable 
reasons.  If  the  good  man  had  "  loaded  up  " 
beyond  his  habit  with  maladies  just  before 
the  Christmas  season,  his  policy  seems  to  have 
been  as  provisional  as  it  was  kindly,  for 
there  was  not  a  delicacy  known  to  the  South 
ern  table — none,  that  is,  that  was  in  any  way 
available— that  was  not  assured  by  the  crying 
demands  of  his  sometimes  exacting  ills ;  and 
the  habit  of  trusting  this  sort  of  providence 
was  so  strong  that  he  did  not  even  speculate, 
while  he  sat  alone  in  the  gathering  twilight, 
as  to  what  the  season  would  bring. 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  15 

It  is  even  possible  that  lie  had  worn  the 
edge  off  the  enjoyment  of  such  delicacies  as 
calf  s-foot  jelly  and  "  floating  island/7  for  in 
stance,  in  his  recent  entertainment  of  the 
malady  the  guardian  angel  of  which  was  the 
famous  cook,  Salina  Sue. 

But  none  of  these  things  was  on  the  old 
healer's  mind  to-day.  Indeed,  he  had  even 
neglected  his  case  of  "  mor'bun'  appetites," 
as  he  sat  at  his  window  waiting  until  he  was 
weary. 

It  was  cold  in  the  little  cabin  when  the 
sun  was  low,  and  the  old  man  realized  it.  He 
even  turned  more  than  once  and  glanced 
toward  the  pile  of  fire-wood,— a  supply  that 
was  kept  up  by  his  consumption  cases,  and 
which  there  was  no  need  of  his  spar 
ing,— and  he  wished  that  some  of  its  best 
logs  were  on  the  hungry  coals;  yet  he  did 
not  move.  The  day  had  been  long  and  dis 
appointing.  He  had  heard  the  familiar 
laughter  of  the  Bradshaw  boys  when  the  car 
riage  whizzed  past  his  cabin  at  midnight  the 
night  before,  and  so  he  knew  that  they  had 
come  home  ;  and  he  had  been  looking  for  them 
all  day.  He  had  even  swept  his  cabin  before 
the  sun  was  up,  and  reddened  his  hearth,  in 
anticipation  of  their  coming. 

It  does  not  seem  much  to  wait  for,  really, 


16  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

all  day  "  Christmas  eve,"  the  trivial  visit  of 
two  teasing  boys  who  had  never  in  their 
lives  held  him  in  their  thoughts  for  an  hour 
at  a  time,  probably ;  but  it  was  all  there  was. 
It  is  something  to  " belong"  to  the  same 
family  as  another,  even  when  the  "belong 
ing"  be  as  this— a  variable  and  attenuated 
relation.  Last  things  are  apt  to  count  for 
more  than  their  abstract  value,  especially  in 
matters  of  the  affections. 

When  in  the  gathering  darkness  the  nar 
row  vista  beyond  the  Cherokee  hedge  began 
to  fade,  the  old  man  turned  away  with  a  sigh. 
He  knew  the  bo}rs  would  not  come  to-night. 
And  yet  the  sigh  went  out  in  a  low  chuckle, 
as  he  muttered,  "  Reckon  dey  so  tooken  up 
wid  Christmas,  dey  forgits." 

He  hobbled  to  the  fire  then,  and  after  cast 
ing  on  the  best  of  his  pine-knots  and  watch- 
ing  them  blaze  and  flare,  he  reached  up  to 
the  mantel,  seized  the  knife  and  plate  there, 
uncovered  a  pan  of  food  sitting  in  the  warm 
ashes,  and  began  looking  after  his  cases. 
First  there  were  those  that  needed  strong 
food,  then  came  a  case  to  be  "  pampered," 
one  the  condition  of  which  called  for  a  mod 
erate  draught  from  a  thick  black  bottle,  and 
finally  there  were  the  lingering  remains  of 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  17 

the  "  mor'bun7  appetites,"  which  were  put  to 
rest  by  a  general  picking  here  and  there,  in 
a  sort  of  dilettante  fashion,  from  the  several 
paper  sacks  upon  his  table. 

By  this  time  the  old  man  himself  was 
growing  sleepy  j  but  he  had  no  disposition  to 
go  to  bed,  and  as  he  raked  the  coals  and  cov 
ered  such  exposed  parts  of  his  fire  as  were 
wasting  heat,  he  talked  to  himself  about  the 
boys.  No  doubt  they  would  rush  in  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning,  and  almost  certainly 
they  "  would  n't  half  behave/7— they  never 
did,— but  when  they  should  show  the  first 
signs  of  "  uppishness,"  they  would  have  to  be 
"  tooken  down,"  as  usual ;  but  no  matter :  it 
made  the  coming  all  the  sweeter  that  he 
dared  reprove  them.  There  was  always  a 
kindliness  about  their  visits  that  he  loved  to 
recall  even  in  certain  situations  evoking  his 
resentment.  During  the  vacations  they  had 
always  bothered  him  in  a  thousand  trivial 
ways.  Many  a  time,  for  example,  the  only  way 
he  knew  that  they  had  borrowed  his  crawfish- 
net  was  that  he  had  found  it  wet.  And  yet— 
this  happened  the  last  time  they  had  used  it, 
just  at  the  end  of  the  summer  vacation— when 
they  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  tear  it  badly, 
they  had  tied  in  its  meshes  a  little  parcel 


18  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

that  evidently  contained  the  best  contribu 
tions  of  their  pockets.  Here  were  two  or 
three  bits  of  tobacco,  four  nickels,  an  old 
silk  handkerchief,  an  odd  mitten,  a  pen 
knife  with  a  single  broken  blade,  and  a  box 
of  matches.  This  was  such  a  note  of  repara 
tion  and  apology  as  the  old  man  could  read, 
and  as  he  opened  it,  scolding  all  the  while 
over  "de  rascality  o'  dem  no-'count  boys," 
he  more  than  once  chuckled  as  he  wiped  his 
eyes  with  the  crumpled  silk  handkerchief. 
Mending  the  net  in  the  autumn  afternoons 
after  the  boys  had  gone  sweetened  many  a 
lonely  hour  for  him,  and  even  while  he 
looked  at  the  setting  sun  and  complained  of 
the  shortening  days,  he  was  glad  to  carry 
the  work  over. 

The  boys  had  no  doubt  forgotten  the  inci 
dent  before  they  reached  school.  Indeed,  their 
inadequate  reparation  had  been  made  as 
much  in  a  spirit  of  deviltry  as  anything  else 
—a  daring  confession  from  a  distance  where 
the  merited  scolding  could  not  reach  them. 
But  the  old  man  remembered,  and  often,  as 
he  sat  waiting  to-day,  he  had  chuckled  softly 
as  he  cast  his  eyes  up  to  the  rafters  where 
the  mended  net  hung. 

Bedtime  came  and  went,— even  Christmas 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  21 

bedtime,  which  is  not  exactly  an  affair  of  the 
clock,— but  still  'Riah  nodded  in  his  chair, 
and  although  he  would  start  up  when  the 
wind  whirled  bits  of  branches  from  the  trees 
against  his  roof,  or  the  shutters  rattled  sud 
denly,  it  was  only  to  drop  back  into  a  happy 
semi-consciousness  of  warmth  and  content 
ment,  to  which  blissful  state  he  even  nodded 
a  stupid  assent  again  and  again.  So  he  told 
the  fire  that  all  was  well  with  him,  and  the 
fire,  glowing  with  a  sense  of  its  own  comfort, 
smiled  back  as  it  dropped  its  gray  lashes  and 
fell  half  asleep,  too. 

Thus  fire  and  man  dozed  for  a  while,  when 
a  slight  noise,  less  than  that  of  the  wind,  but 
different,  made  the  man  open  his  eyes.  But 
the  stillness  within  and  the  recurring  outside 
disturbances  were  reassuring,  and  he  nodded 
again,  but  only  for  a  moment.  Three  times 
he  was  suddenly  wakened  before  a  thumping 
sound  brought  him  to  his  feet,  and  he  ex 
claimed,  seeing  no  sign  of  anything  wrong, 
"Wonder  ef  Skittish  Kate's  nightmares  is 
a-comin'  on  me  ag'in,"  and,  standing  alone  in 
the  half-light,  he  felt  his  own  pulse,  in  lieu 
of  hers.  "  No,  dat  ain't  no  nightmare  pulse," 
he  muttered ;  "  hit  ain't  a  thing  but  loss  o'  de 
bed.  I  forgits  all  about  ole  Uncle  Si's  weak 
back,  settin'  up  heah  half  de  night."  He 


22  HOLLY  AND   PIZEN 

turned  to  go  to  bed,  but  had  taken  only  a 
single  step  when  there  came  a  timid  knock 
at  the  door.  Midnight  though  it  was,  he 
thought  only  of  the  Bradshaw  boys  as  he 
strode  forward  to  open  the  door. 

But  he  was  disappointed,  for  the  figure 
that  entered  at  his  bidding  was  that  of  an 
old  woman.  A  first  glimpse  was  enough  to 
awaken  the  professional  instinct  in  the  old 
host,  and,  as  he  motioned  her  to  a  chair,  he 
said: 

"  Howdy,  lady !  Howdy,  ma'am  !  I  hope  I 
fin'  you  sanitary  an'  salubrious." 

This  was  his  favorite  form  of  greeting. 
The  visitor,  who  seemed  to  be  a  very  old,  very 
black  woman,  courtesied  deeply,  and,  shading 
her  eyes  with  her  hand,  drew  her  chair  so 
that  its  back  was  toward  the  fire. 

"  No,  sah,"  she  began,  as  she  sat  down,  and 
her  voice  was  cracked  and  high ;  "  I  ain't  to 
say  neither  sanitary  nur  salub'ious,  an'  dat  's 
what  fetched  me  heah.  I  'se  a-sufferin'  might 
ily  wid  my  eyesight,  an'  I  come  to  pray  you 
to  lay  de  hand  o'  healin'  on  me." 

Her  host  laboriously  lifted  his  ailing  leg 
with  both  hands  and  placed  it  on  the  stool 
before  him.  Then  he  coughed  and  wheezed 
a  little,  and  closed  his  eyes  as  if  in  thought. 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  23 

"  Yas,  ma'am,"  lie  said  in  a  minute ;  "  I  see 
you  in  half-darkness."  He  raised  his  hand 
and  thrust  it  forward  with  a  sort  of  groping 
movement.  "  I  see  you  pickin'  yo'  way  along 
de  road  an'  feelin'  fer  de  do'-latch  befo'  you 
find  it— ain't  dat  so?" 

"  Yas,  sah,  dat 's  so.  An'  I  got  consider'ble 
in'ard  mis'ry,  too." 

The  old  man  kept  his  eyes  shut,  speaking 
as  if  from  mental  sight  alone. 

"Yas,"  he  repeated,  "yas;  I  feels  yo' 
afflicti6n  an'  I  see  it,  too.  You  got  consid 
er'ble  bilious  bile  on  yo'  stomick,  an' — an' 
you  got  a  floatin'  liver  same  as  a  boat  wid- 
out  a  rudder,  an'  yo'  lights  is  all  extinguished. 
De  wonder  to  me  is  dat  you  kin  see  at  all? 

He  opened  his  eyes  now  and  looked  at  his 
patient. 

"I  got  a  lot  o'  cases  on  han'  at  present," 
he  said  in  a  moment,  and  his  voice  was  quite 
business-like—altogether  unlike  the  mysteri 
ous  tones  of  the  diagnostician.  "  Dis  leg,  now ; 
de  lady  dat  had  it,  she  tampered  wid  it  so 
long  befo'  I  took  it,  it  's  purty  nigh  wo'e  me 
out.  An'  ole  man  Colbert's  heart-disease  it 's 
about  kyored,  but  it  's  lef  me  wid  a  sort 
o'  palpitation  o'  de  sperit,  an'—  But  ef  you  '11 
tek  good  keer  o'  yo'  case  yo'se'f — eat  a-plenty 


24  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

fresh  aigs  an'  cream,  an'  drink  a  little  good 
wine,  an'  poultice  de  back  o'  yo'  head  good 
wid  three-times-sifted-meal  poultice  two  de 
grees  below  de  simmerin'-p'int,  an'- 

He  would  have  gone  on,  but  she  inter 
rupted  him. 

"  Hold  on,  please,  sir,"  she  began  ;  "  hold 
on  !  How  you  'spec'  me  to  git  a  poultice  an' 
do  all  you  sayin',  when  I  'bleege'  to  work  in  de 
fiel'?  I  wants  to  be  Ityored  now.  Dat  what 
fetched  me  heah,  in  all  dis  win'  an'  col'." 

The  old  man  cleared  his  throat  and  looked 
important. 

"  Well,  lady,  of  co'se  yo'  case  is  got  to  be 
tooken  keer  of,  don'  keer  who  teks  it.  Ef 
I  teks  it,  I  got  to  be  shore  it  '11  have  proper 
nour'slmiint  an'  usage.  You  see,  ef  I  'm  a- 
settin'  in  half-darkness  whiles  I  'm  a-doctorin' 
it,  I  mus'  have  — 

The  interview  was  interrupted  here  by  a 
loud  rap  at  the  door,  and,  without  waiting 
for  an  invitation,  a  huge  fat  man  came  in. 
He  seemed  to  breathe  with  difficulty,  and 
with  each  step  he  panted  woefully. 

Seeing  him  in  more  pain  than  she,  the  old 
woman  rose  as  he  entered,  and  offered  to  re 
tire  to  "the  other  room"  until  he  should  be 
first  served. 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  27 

The  newcomer  moved  slowly,  and  after  a 
swift  glance  at  the  chairs  in  the  room,  he 
took  from  under  the  shawl  with  which  he  was 
enveloped  a  piece  of  plank,  and  laying  it  upon 
a  stool  sat  upon  it. 

The  plank  was  at  least  three  feet  long, 
but  when  he  was  seated  there  was  little  of  it 
to  spare. 

"I  'm  a-sufferin'  from  a  case  o'  general 
swelling"  he  began,  as  he  fanned  himself 
with  a  huge  palmetto  fan,  "  an'  I  come  to  be 
reduced  down." 

The  old  man  regarded  him  askance  over  the 
rim  of  his  spectacles. 

"  Well,  I  should  say  you  is,"  he  said  pres 
ently—  "  I  should  say  you  sho  is.  An7  what 
you  needs  is  a  life-size  poultice,  to  git  you 
reduced  down  even.  'T  would  n't  do  to  re 
duce  you  down  in  spots,  noways.  You  'd  look 
wuss  'n  ole  man  Bible-Job  wid  all  his  biles— 
you  sho  would.  But  huccome  you  fans  yo'se'f 
so  ?  Is  you  hot  F 

"  My  insides  is  het  up  yit  f  om  las'  summer. 
I  'm  cool  enough  outside.  I  'm  jest  a-fannin' 
my  breath."  And  with  this  he  flourished  the 
palmetto  swiftly. 

"  I  'spec'  you  feels  like  I  does  sometimes— 
wid  two  seasons  ragin'  in  you  at  once-t— when 


28  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

I  has  two  chills  to  one  fever,  or,  maybe,  dis- 
gus'  for  victuals  an'  mor'bun'  appetites  bofe 
ragin'  in  me  at  de  same  time.  Ef  I  was  n't 
so  nachelly  robustious  as  I  is,  I  'd  bre'k  down 
sometimes  wid  all  de  contrarinesses  I  has  to 
deal  wid—" 

A  loud  thumping  sound  at  the  door  at  this 
point,  as  if  some  one  were  falling  against  it, 
startled  the  old  doctor  so  that  he  involun 
tarily  rose  to  his  feet.  It  began  to  seem  as  if 
strange  things  were  happening.  But  his 
patient  appeared  in  no  wise  disturbed.  He 
continued  his  fanning,  and  did  not  even  turn 
his  head  until  a  tall,  slim  man  passed  before 
him,  bearing  a  pack  upon  his  back.  Then 
the  fat  man  complained  that  the  fire  was 
oppressive,  and,  with  more  alacrity  than  he 
seemed  capable  of,  retired  to  the  other  room. 
It  was  a  common  thing  for  his  patients  to 
wait  in  this  other  chamber— that  is,  behind 
the  curtain  that  screened  the  old  man's  bed 
in  the  opposite  end  of  his  cabin— while  an 
other  was  served. 

If  Uriah  had  been  a  hospitable  host  up  to 
this  moment,  his  manners  failed  him  some 
what  now,  for  he  did  not  like  the  peddler's 
looks.  Indeed,  the  old  negro  shared  the 
popular  mistrust  of  peddlers  in  general,  and 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  29 

especially  of  such  as  were  belated  on  stormy 
nights.  For  a  moment  he  stood  and  looked 
at  his  third  guest  in  embarrassed  silence,  even 
moving  back  a  step  or  two  as  he  measured 
him  with  his  eye,  before  he  found  voice  to 
say:  "I— I— don't  keer  'bout  buyin' nothin' 
dis  evenin',  thank  you,  sah,  an'— an'  I— I 
'spec'  you  better  be  a-moving  on — " 

Even  while  he  was  speaking,  there  came  a 
terrific  gust  of  wind,  slamming  the  shutters 
noisily,  while  it  whistled  around  the  mud 
chimney  like  a  voice  of  warning.  Uriah  was 
superstitious,  and  in  these  manifestations  of 
the  infinite  he  felt  himself  challenged.  He 
could  not  turn  a  brother  man  from  his  door 
on  such  a  night  as  this. 

"An'  yit,"  he  added,  involuntarily  mov 
ing  back  as  the  peddler  deposited  his 
pack  upon  the  floor  and  sat  upon  it— "an7 
yit—" 

Another  warning  came  from  the  storm.  A 
heavy  limb  fell  upon  the  roof. 

"An'  yit,"  he  hastened. to  say,  "so  long  as 
it 's  blowin'  so  outside— I  don'  know  what  de 
elemints  is  doin'  to-night,  nohow— but  tell 
dey  eases  up,  of  co'se  you  '11  haf  to  set 
down— an'  den  I  reckon  you  better  pass  on ;  I 
ain't  got  but  one  bed,  an'  one  set  o'  kivers— 


30  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

Seem  to  me  like  you  'd  'a'  managed  to  git 
home  befo'  Christmus,  anyhow." 

The  peddler  had  not  yet  siiggested  remain 
ing  for  the  night,  but  at  this  hint,  notwith 
standing  its  breech  presentation,  he  hastened 
to  remark  that  he  was  n't  at  all  particular 
about  a  bed.  Indeed,  he  liked  the  idea  of 
sitting  up  all  night.  He  was  a  sociable  man. 
He  even  proceeded  to  exhibit  his  sociable 
nature,  as  he  spoke,  by  drawing  the  old  man's 
chair  quite  near  him  and  begging  him  to  be 
seated,  quite  as  if  he  were  host  of  the  even 
ing.  The  real  host,  for  once  in  his  life,  was 
evidently  intimidated,  and  although  he  drew 
it  some  feet  away,  he  took  the  proffered  chair. 
Seeing  him  seated,  the  visitor  remarked, 
reverting  politely  to  his  former  suggestion : 

"  I  would  'a'  managed  to  git  home  to-night, 
ef  I  'd  'a'  had  a  home  to  go  to,  an'  ef  I  was  n't 
so  forgitful.  I  never  can  ricollect  where  no 
place  is,  once  I  leave  it,  an'  ef  I  had  a  home, 
I  'd  likely  forgit  where  it  was— ef  I  did  n't 
forgit  I  had  it." 

By  this  time  the  old  negro  was  peering  for 
ward,  scanning  his  guest's  face.  He  saw 
that  he  was  a  white  man,  and  eccentric- 
looking.  His  earlier  guests  were  both 
colored. 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  31 

"How  is  you  talking  anyhow!"  he  asked 
eagerly  and  with  evident  apprehension.  "  Ef 
you  forgits  so  constant,  maybe  you  is  got  a 
home,  an'  done  forgot  it." 

The  forgetful  man  looked  straight  into  the 
fire  as  he  replied  in  an  even  voice : 

"  All  I  can  say  is  I  disremember  havin'  any. 
I  am  a  too  honest  man  to  claim  what  I  can't 
ricollect  of  havin',  be  it  either  riches  or  rela 
tions.  Ef  I  could  ricollect  any  family  thet 
might  be  lookin'  for  me  to-night,  I  'd  shoulder 
'this  pack  an'  start— ef  I  could  ricollect  the 
road.  It 's  bad— havin'  no  ricollection.  I  'd 
tell  you  lots  o'  tight  places  it 's  got  me  in— ef 
I  could  ricollect  'em." 

"'Scuse  me,  please,  sah,  but—  What  dis 
you  say  ? "  Uriah  was  frightened. 

"  I  never  know  what  I  've  said.  I  only 
know  what  I  'm  sayin'." 

At  this,  the  old  man  moved  his  chair  back, 
and  mopped  his  forehead.  Then,  recovering 
himself,  he  added : 

"  'Sense  me  movin'  back.  I  jes  took  a  case 
o'  smallpox  'istiddy,  an'  f'om  de  way  I  begins 
to  feel  de  fire,  I  looks  fer  it  to  bre'k  out  on 
me  any  minute.  Is  you  ever  had  de  black 
smallpox ! " 

"I  don't  ricollect."     It  was  a  quiet  an- 


32  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

swer,  but  it  moved  Uriah  back  fully  three 
feet. 

"  Ef  I  could  be  cured  of  not  ricollectin'," 
the  placid  voice  continued,  "  I  'd  be  willin'  to 
give  all  I  've  got  in  my  pack— to  whoever 
cured  me." 

This  roused  his  professional  instinct,  and 
Uriah's  voice  was  almost  normal  as  he  asked, 
looking  askance  at  the  object  in  question  as 
he  spoke : 

"  What  is  you  got  in  yo'  pack,  anyhow  ? " 

But  when  his  prospective  patient  replied 
blandly,  "  I  don't  ricollect,"  he  seemed  to  feel 
a  sudden  return  of  the  smallpox  symptoms, 
for  he  drew  his  chair  quite  to  the  other  side 
of  the  fire. 

"  But  I  know  I  've  got  the  pack,"  the  ped 
dler  continued,  "  because  I  never  trust  no 
past  tenses  in  my  mind  about  it.  I  know  the 
things  I  Ve  got.  It  's  them  I  've  had  I  dis- 
remember.  I  'm  always  under  my  pack  or  on 
it.  Ef  I  was  to  let  go  of  it  a  minute,  it  would 
be  good-by  to  it." 

Weird  as  it  was,  the  situation  was  inter 
esting  to  the  humble  observer  of  physical  and 
mental  phenomena,  and  he  ventured  to  ask 
tentatively : 

"  Has  you  ever  los'  anything  so— by  lettin' 
go  of  it?" 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  33 

"How  in  thunder  do  I  know?"  This  was 
spirited,  and  Uriah  glanced  toward  the  door. 
But  the  next  words  of  his  guest  were  reas 
suring  in  their  placidity.  "  The  only  way  I 
know  I  ain't  got  no  memory  is  by  realizin' 
what  I  have  got.  I  've  got  a  absence  of 
memory — an'  that  covers  the  ground." 

"  I  ivush-t  to  God  A1  mighty  you  'd  Mver  de 
ground  ''twix1  heah  an'  ivharsomever  you  started 
from."  This  rejoinder,  although  somewhat 
muffled,  came  as  a  fierce  growl  and  was  most 
uncivil,  but  the  old  man  was  tried  beyond  his 
strength,  and  his  masterful  nature  suddenly 
surprised  him  by  asserting  itself. 

As  he  spoke,  there  was  a  distinct  titter 
from  behind  the  curtain,  and  Uriah  was  sure 
he  saw  the  peddler's  shoulders  shake  a  little. 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  about  him, 
and  for  a  moment  there  was  something  really 
tragic  in  his  fear.  Then  a  change  came  over 
his  face.  There  had  been  a  familiar  note  in 
that  titter.  It  sounded  like— it  ivas— the 
laugh  of  the  older  Bradshaw  boy. 

The  old  man  made  no  sign  for  nearly  a 
minute.  Then  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  as  he 
began  to  speak,  he  took  in  the  whole  cabin 
with  one  comprehensive  sweep  of  his  trem 
bling  arm. 


34  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

"  Um— hm,"  he  began.  "  Yas,  I  see.  You- 
all  is  sick,  an'  you  wants  to  know  what  yo' 
trouble  is.  Well,  I  '11  tell  yer.  Don't  be 
afeard— I '//  tell  yer!  In  de  fust  place,  you 's 
all  afflicted  wid  absence  o'  de  brain,  an'  you  's 
jes  nachelly  a  pack  o'  no-'count  scound'els— 
dat  what  you  is.  Yo'  heads  is  holler  as 
driukin'-gou'ds,  an'  as  fer  yo'  hearts,  dey  's 
so  swunk  an'  swiveled  up,  dey  ain't  no  bigger 
'n  chicken  hearts.  Gord  forgive  me  fer  sayin' 
it,  but  you-all  is  sufferin'  wid  a  fatal  case  o' 
durn  fool— de  whole  passel  o'  yer !  " 

The  storm  of  his  wrath  seemed  to  break 
here,  and,  trembling  still  with  rage,  he 
dropped  back  into  his  chair,  and  while  he 
took  his  poker  and  began  vigorously  to  stir 
his  fire,  he  muttered  : 

"  Makin'  game  of  a  ole  sick  man  wid  de 
nervous  p'ostration,  an'— an'- 

"  Purty-lookin'  set  o'  college  gemmen  you 
is,  I  mus'  say— 

"  Gwine  off  to  learn  manners  an' — an'  ca'- 
yin'  on  sech  dog-gone  nonsense— 

The  violence  of  his  own  speech  evidently 
startled  him,  and  he  suddenly  stopped  and 
cast  his  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling. 

"  Yas,  Lord,"  he  exclaimed  presently  and 
with  fervor,  "  yas ;  I  is  cussin',  an'  I  can't  he'p 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  35 

it  ef  I  is.  Anybody  but  You  'd  cuss  ef— ef— 
ef  a  passel  o'  boys  you  been  knowin'  befo' 
dey  was  born— 

There  was  something  suggestive  of  tears 
in  the  old  man's  distressed  voice,  and  all  at 
once  the  boys  realized  it,  and  they  could  be 
quiet  no  longer.  When  the  old  woman  came 
forward,  only  partly  free  from  her  disguise, 
and  'Riah  recognized  in  her  the  younger  Brad- 
shaw  boy,  his  favorite  of  the  two,  he  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands.  The  boy  was  full  of 
contrition,  but  he  hardly  knew  what  to  do  or 
to  say. 

"Come  on  out,  Teddy,"  he  called  to  his 
brother,  as  he  dropped  his  skirt  and  began 
untying  the  peddler's  pack.  "  Come  on,  an7 
no  more  foolin'.  Come,  help  me  an'  George 
undo  this  pack.  We  have  n't  got  much  for 
you  here,  Uncle  'Riah,"  he  added,  as  he 
struggled  with  the  knotted  twine— "  just  a 
few  Christmas  things  we  brought  you.  We 
were  going  to  fetch  'em  to  you  this  morning, 
but  we  began  foolin',  an'  then,  when  it  got 
late,  we  thought  we  'd  have  a  little  lark,  an' 
leave  the  things  for  you;  but  George— this 
is  our  friend  Mr.  George  Moulton.  He  lives 
in  Connecticut,  an'  he  could  n't  do  the  plan 
tation  talk,  so  he  took  the  peddler  part,  an' 


30  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

he  was  so  long-winded  an'  funny  that  he 
made  us  giggle— an'  then  you  went  an1  got 
mad.—" 

By  this  time  the  pack  was  open,  and  he 
lifted  out  a  half -worn  coat  and  laid  it  on  the 
old  man's  lap.  It  was  followed  by  two  hats 
and  a  cap,  several  pairs  of  shoes,  a  lot  of 
cravats,  some  collars  and  cuffs,  and  a  num 
ber  of  packages. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  him  that  mother 
sent  the  packages?"  said  the  older  brother. 
"  Really,  they  are  the  only  things  that  are  of 
any  account.  We  just  put  in  the  other 
things,  thinking  you  might  give  them  to  a 
beggar— or  something." 

'Riah  was  laughing  by  this  time. 

"  I  say  beggar !  "  He  was  proudly  holding 
the  coat  up  before  him.  "  I  say— I  say  beggar ! 
I  gwine  take  out  my  buryin'-coat  an'  wear  it 
out,  an'  subs'tute  dis  one  in  its  place.  Umh  ! 
I  nuver  expected  to  be  able  to  be  buried  in 
a  cutaway." 

Seeing  him  draw  a  purse  from  the  coat 
pocket,  the  younger  brother  said,  "  We 
did  n't  have  any  money  to  put  in  that.  We 
never  have  any  when  we  come  home.  But 
I  promise  you  a  dime  to-morrow,  anyhow, 
an'  maybe  more." 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  37 

"And  I  '11  give  you  a  dollar  right  now," 
said  lie  who  had  been  the  peddler,  "  if  you  711 
say  over  again  what  was  the  matter  with  us 
boys— and  I  want  you  should  say  it  slowly, 
so  I  can  write  it  down." 

"  What  dat  you  say  ?  Say  all  dem  cussin' 
'jaculatioms  over  ag'in?  No,  sah,  not  ef  de 
co't  knows  itse'f .  I  'se  'shamed  enough  now, 
cussin'  out  loud,  an'  it  a-fixin'  to  be  Christmus 
terreckly.  You-all  is  sho  put  me  to  shame 
wid  all  dese  Christmus  gif's — an'  me  not  got 
a  thing  fer  yer."  He  stopped  short  here,  as 
if  suddenly  remembering  something.  "Lessen 
I  'd  give  yer  yo'  vacation  present  now,  an'  let 
you  save  it." 

He  mounted  his  footstool  as  he  spoke,  and 
reaching  over  the  old  crawfish-net  that  lay  on 
the  rafters,  he  drew  down  a  new  one  lying 
above  it. 

"When  you  yo'ng  rascals  busted  my  new 
fish-net  las'  summer,  an'  I  had  no  end  o' 
trouble  a-mendin'  it,  I  said  to  myse'f  I  war  n't 
gwine  to  have  my  fine  net  snook  away  no  mo' 
by  a  passel  o'  no-'count  boys,  so  I  turned 
to  an'  made  y'-all  dis  little  one." 

The  net  was  far  finer  and  larger  than  his  own 
had  ever  been,  and  the  boys  were  ominously 
silent  when  they  took  it  from  his  hands. 


38  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

"  I  ain't  got  no  presents  to  put  in  it,"  the 
old  man  continued,  as  he  took  his  seat,  "  but 
I  ax  y'-all  to  forgive  me  fer  cussm'— an'  it 
Christmus,  too.  I  ain't  no  cussin'  man,  no 
how,  but,  sence  I  been  wrastlin'  wid  so  many 
sicknesses—  It 's  good  yon-all  did  n't  ketch 
me  wid  de  scoldin'  hysterics  on  me.  I  'd  'a' 
sca'ed  you  all  but  to  death." 

The  boys  had  at  last  thanked  him  many 
times  for  the  net,  and  each  in  his  own  way- 
some  without  words— apologized  for  his  part 
in  the  invasion  j  and  at  this  reference  to  his 
professional  life  there  was  not  one  who  did 
not  envy  him  his  courage  as  the  younger 
Bradshaw  boy  said,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
the  old  man's  chair  in  a  way  that  was  irre 
sistible  as  he  spoke : 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  really 
do  take  people's  diseases  from  them,  Uncle  'Riah 
—honest  Injun,  now?" 

The  old  man  was  taken  by  surprise,  but 
he  chuckled  softly  as  he  answered  quite 
seriously : 

"I  takes  de  'sponsibility  of  'em,  honey. 
An'  quick  as  anybody  kin  shake  off  de 
'sponsibility  of  anything,  it  's  good-by  to  it. 
I  don't  say  I  ain't  wropped  up  a  well  leg 
an'  nussed  it  'fo'  to-day.  But  dat  's  kaze 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  41 

some  folks  is  slow-faithed.  Dey  won't  b'lieve 
nothin'  widout  a  witness.  When  ole  man 
Simpson  was  limpin'  roun'  de  plantation,  an 
de  leaders  of  'is  legs  refused  to  lead,  an'  he 
had  deze  heah  very  cotfse  veins  in  'is  lef  leg, 
I  tole  'im  to  saw  lef'-handed  tell  I  could  tek 
his  mis'ry  away;  an'  't  war  n't  no  trouble. 
You  see,  sawin'  lef'-handed  dat  th'owed  'is 
weight  on  de  yether  fine- vein  leg,  an'  swapped 
leaders.  But  ef  I  had  n't  'a'  tied  up  my  leg 
an'  showed  up  de  trouble  in  my  system,  you 
reckin  he  'd  'a'  supplied  me  wid  winter  socks 
an'  coal-ile?  No,  sah.  You  see,  all  I  gits 
fer  my  kyorin'  folks  is  what  nourishin'  an' 
cherishin'  the  cases  needs.  Heap  o'  deze 
heah  college  doctors  could  kyore  folks  better 
'n  dey  does  ef  dey  had  eyes  in  dey  jedg- 
mint.  I  done  kyored  a  heap  o'  ole  puny  an' 
peaked  folks,  an'  started  dey  circulation  wid 
nothin'  but  de  word  o'  healin',  'fo'  to-day— 
yas,  I  is.  I  jes  speaks  freedom  fer  ;em,  an' 
when  dey  slow  to  see  de  light,  I  takes  dey 
cases  to  board  an'  show  'em  up  fer  ?em. 
Why,  you  could  have  de  best  pair  o'  lung- 
belluses  Gord  ever  made,  an'  set  down  an' 
study  about  makin'  'em  wheeze,  an'  dey  'd 
might  soon  squeak  an'  leak  win'.  I  done 
tried  it." 


42  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

"  And  yet,  Uncle  'Riah,  when  you  were  by 
yourself,  we  heard  you  talking  about  some 
body's  weak  back." 

The  old  man  turned  and  looked  at  the  boy. 

"  An'  was  you  in  my  cabin  all  dat  time  ? " 
He  was  almost  fierce  as  he  spoke. 

"  No,  Uncle  5  but  I  was  in  and  out  several 
times  during  the  evening.  Don't  get  mad 
again,  now.  We  just  slipped  some  blankets 
on  your  bed  to  surprise  you— some  mother 
sent.  If  you  don't  have  these  diseases,  what 
makes  you  talk  about  'em  when  you  are 
alone  ? " 

"  Well,  as  to  dat,  of  co'se,  I  got  so  in  de 
habit,  I  thinks  in  de  language-* dat 's  all.  I 
is  got  a  plaster  on  my  back  now,  one  ole  man 
Si  fetched  me,  so  he  could  feel  eased  a  little. 
Settin'  heah  so  still  some  days,  my  back  gits 
sort  o'  set  in  de  sockets,  an'  ef  I  could  build 
up  ole  man  Si's  faith  an'  my  back  at  de  same 
time,  I  don't  see  no  p'tic'lar  harm  in  it." 

"  And  what  about  your  poison-pot  and  all 
of  those  tomato-cans,  Uncle  'Riah  ?  We  're 
on  to  you,  now,  and  we  're  not  going  to  let 
you  off  till  you  tell  us  all  about  it." 

"Dey  ain't  nothin'  to  tell  you  about  dem 
pot  an'  cans,  honey.  An'  as  to  de  l  pizen-pot,' 
as  dey  call  it,  dey  ain't  nuver  is  been  no  pizen 
in  it,  an'  I  ain't  nuver  is  said  dey  was.  De 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  43 

folks  started  dat  on  me,  an'  I  'lowed  dat  ef 
dey  needed  a  pizen-pot  to  feed  dey  faith  I  M 
let  'em  have  it.  So  I  kep'  still  an'  looked 
wise.  Dat  's  all  I  done.  Heap  o'  my  color 
folks  is  dat-a-way.  Ef  dey  did  n't  think  I 
brewed  pizen  in  de  pot  o'  healing  dey  wouldn't 
have  no  faith  an'  no  fear.  Pizen  in  docterin' 
is  de  same  as  de  devil  in  'ligion.  Seem  lak 
dey  bofe  needful.  You  can't  turn  yo'  back 
on  darkness  widout  facin'  de  light. 

"  No  j  de  wuss  I  ever  is  done  wid  pizen  was 
to  slip  a  little  lump  o'  sulphur  on  de  live 
coals  once-t  in  a  while  to  show  up  de  pains 
leavin'  my  body ;  an'  dat  did  n't  do  no  harm, 
kaze  de  fumes  dey  all  mounted  up  de  chimbly. 
You  see,  sometimes  doubters  comes  to  be 
healed ;  an'  when  a  'cripit  ole  man  or  'oman 
comes  a-limpin'  in,  an'  I  see  dey  jes  come 
kaze  dey  don't  know  whar  else  to  go,  an'  I 
mek  'em  set  down,  an'  unload  some  o'  my 
pains  befo'  dey  eyes,  an'  dey  see  me  cast  'em 
into  de  flames  an'  de  flames  receive  'em,  I 
tell  yer,  sometimes  hit  sets  'em  up  so  dat 
dey  'd  all  but  walk  out  straight  ef  dey  did  n't 
have  no  legs. 

"  I  did  fill  a  couple  o'  knot-holes  in  a  stick 
o'  fire- wood  wid  gunpowder,  once-t,— jes  a 
few  light  charges,— to  help  a  nervious  yaller 
lady  outen  'er  trouble.  She  had  purty  nigh 


44  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

wo'e  'er  ole  man  out  wid  de  stampin'  hys 
terics,  an'  I  knowed  it.  An'  when  she  coine 
to  me  to  be  kyored,  I  tole  'er  her  case  took  up 
so  much  room  dat  I  could  n't  accommodate 
it  lessen  I  could  git  de  fire  to  tek  a  case  o' 
convulsion  fits  dat  was  surgin'  in  me.  An'- 
well,  sir,  she  did  n't  pay  much  attention,  an' 
she  holped  me  pile  on  de  wood,  me  layin'  de 
loaded  log  a  little  to  one  side,  on  top  o'  de 
wet  sticks,  whar  it  'd  git  het  slow  j  an'  when 
I  see  de  flames  begin  to  warm  it,  I  started 
inakin'  passes  wid  my  hands,  an'  implorin' 
de  fire  to  take  de  fits  outen  me. 

"Well,  sir,  when  de  fire  answered  my 
prayer,  it  purty  nigh  ripped  up  de  bricks  on 
de  hy earth;  but  hit  Icyored  de  lady. 

"When  she  come  to,  I  'nounced  dat  she 
was  healed,  an'  I  started  stamping  An'  wid 
dat  she  started  shoutin'  an'  praisin'  Gord. 
An'  her  ole  man  he  say  she  ain't  nuver  is  had 
de  stampin'  hysterics  f'om  dat  time  on.  He 
humored  'em  fer  me  wid  small  change  an'  a 
little  liquor  fer  a  year  or  so,  off  en  an'  on, 
an'  I  made  him  spend  a  little  mo'  money  on 
his  ole  'oman,  an'  let  'er  set  up  in  de  rockin'- 
cheer  whilst  he  worked  in  de  field.  She  was 
one  deze  thin-wristed  little  yaller  'omans  jes 
built  fer  either  indulgin'  or  hysterics,  one.  An' 


HOLLY  AND   PIZEN  45 

now  de  ole  man  he  indulges  her,  and  dey 
bofe  think  I  kyored  her— an'  lookin'  at  it  one 
way,  I  'spec'  I  is  kyored  'er. 

"  You  see,  chillun,  I  'm  'feared  all  dis  here 
seems  mighty  jubious  to  y'-all  book-learners, 
but  we-all  is  jes  gropers.  We  walks  in  de 
half-light,  an'  tries  to  pick  a  straight  way 
'mongst  a  heap  o'  brambles. 

"  But,  wid  it  all,  I  craves  to  help  an'  not  to 
hender. 

"  But  fer  pizen  in  my  pot— why,  chillun,  I 
been  stirrin'  it  wid  de  holly-branch  all  day; 
an'  you  know  I  could  n't  use  no  Christmus 
wood  in  a  pizen-pot.  Look  at  all  dat  big 
bunch  o'  holly  layin'  yonder  in  de  corner  on 
de  flo'.  Yo'  ma  sont  it  in  to  me  'istiddy ;  an' 
she  say  when  you-all  come  you  'd  tack  it  up 
on  de  mantel-shelf  fer  me.  She  '11  be  'long 
in  de  mornin'  wid  'er  Testamint  to  read  de 
stable  story  to  me,  de  way  she  do  every 
Christmus,  I  reckon. 

"  Seem  lak  it 's.  been  a  mighty  long  day 
to-day  when  y'-all  did  n't  come." 

The  boys  had  quieted  down  as  the  old  man 
went  on,  notwithstanding  the  times  when 
they  laughed  heartily  with  him  through  the 
humorous  passages ;  and  when  they  took  his 
hint  and  all  three  set  to  and  began  tacking 


46  HOLLY  AND  PIZEN 

the  holly-branches  over  his  hearth,  they 
were  pretty  still  and  serious  about  it  j  and 
when  they  had  finished  'Riah  said : 

"  No  j  dey  ain't  no  'spicion  o'  no  pizen  in 
none  o'  deze  tomater-cans,  chillun.  It  's  jes 
like  I  tole  yer— to  sustain  de  weak-faithed, 
dat  's  all.  Dey  ain't  no  mo'  'n  pennyryle  in 
most  of  'em,  an'  dat  keeps  de  muskitties 
away;  an'  de  fleas  dey  flee  fom  it,  too. 
Uinh  !  Listen  at  me,  matchin'  my  words  ! 

"  De  on'ies'  mission  o'  physic,  honey,  is  to 
ketch  de  eye  o'  faith— dat 's  all.  I  'spec's  to  do 
away  wid  my  tomater-cans  little  by  little,  but 
don't  you  tell  it.  I  know  you-all  's  too  much 
gemmen  to  talk  behin'  a'  ole  nigger  like  me, 
anyhow.  You  done  complimented  me  enough, 
a-listenin'  at  me.  But  you  know  what  time 
it  is  ?  Hit 's  Christmus  dis  minute,  dat  what 
it  is.  Listen  at  de  clock  !  Go  on  home  now, 
an'  'fleet  on  de  shepherds  an'  de  wise  men  an' 
frankincense  and  myrrh  an'  de  star  in  de 
east,  an'  forgit  de  meanderin'  talk  of  a  ole 
fool  nigger  an'  de  common  yarbs  o'  Cherokee 
Bayou.  Go  on  now,  an'  'spress  my  happy 
Christmus  an'  thanky-ma'am  to  yo'  ma  fer 
dem  blankets.  Git  along,  I  say !  I  feels  Sam 
Tyler's  third-day  chill  a-comin'  on  me  now, 
an'  I  gwine  git  it  in  'twix'  dem  new  blankets." 


HOLLY  AND  PIZEN  47 

He  had  followed  the  boys  to  the  door,  and 
as  they  passed  out,  he  called  to  them : 

"  Look  up  in  de  firmament  todes  de  east, 
chillun !  Bless  Gord,  I  wonder  ef  dat  could 
be  de  same  ole  star !  n 


QUEEN  0'  SHEBA'S  TBIUMPH 

(HEN  Queen  o'  Sheba  Jackson  came 
to  New  York  from  her  plantation 
home  at  Broom  Corn  Bottom,  she 
trod  the  plank  from  the  Jersey  ferry  into 
Gotham  like  a  tragedy  queen,  and  if  a 
little  cloud,  dark  as  her  face,  rising  over 
North  River,  had  swollen  and  spread  before 
her  eyes  until  the  city  about  her  was  gray 
and  then  nearly  black  and  then  suddenly 
wet,  she  read  in  the  incident  no  presage  of 
disaster.  She  knew  that  hereabouts  were  the 
weather  headquarters,  and  she  had  brought 
her  umbrella,  and  the  dash  with  which  she 
ran  it  up  and  started  forth,  her  Broom  Corn 
stride  in  full  action,  fairly  illustrated  her 
spirit. 

She  had  come  against  the  separate  and 
combined  protestations  of  her  family,  friends, 
and  church,  who  had  coaxingly,  prayerfully, 

48 


QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  49 

and  at  last  even  abusively,  advised  against  it. 
It  takes  great  spirit  to  brook  such  opposition, 
and  Queen  o'  Sheba  had  struck  out  to  win. 

As  she  entered  the  crowd  that  jostled  her 
elbows  on  either  side,  she  realized  in  her  new 
environment  a  menace  to  both  soul  and  body. 
She  had  been  warned  that  she  was  "  li'ble  to 
be  lightning-struck  wid  a  live  wire  at  any 
street-crossin7,"  and  she  knew  that  evil  incar 
nate  was  rampant  in  the  great  city ;  but  she 
dodged  the  telegraph-poles,  sniffed  at  the 
populace,  and  feared  nothing. 

In  her  pocket  there  were  eighteen  dollars 
in  money,  tied  in  the  corner  of  her  handker 
chief,  folded  in  with  a  slip  of  paper  on  which 
was  written  the  year-old  address  of  a  friend 
who  had  previously  migrated  from  Broom 
Corn.  Sheba  would  have  exchanged  letters 
verifying  this  address,  but  for  fear.  Her  for 
tune  had  come  suddenly,  and  she  dared  not 
hold  it  lest  it  should  melt.  The  manager  of 
the  narrow-gage  road  that  handled  Broom 
Corn's  cotton  had  offered  her  fifty  dollars  for 
her  cow,  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  on  the 
day  before  his  train  killed  it  on  the  track, 
and  he  was  pleased  to  settle  with  her  for 
transportation  to  New  York  and  twenty-five 
dollars  to  boot.  Five  of  the  remaining  seven 


50  QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

dollars  of  the  price  of  her  happy  disaster  were 
bulging  in  a  wad  from  Sheba's  stocking  now— 
a  reserve  for  a  rainier  day  j  and  as  she  strode 
along,  and  the  sun  came  out,  and  she  began  to 
see  things  in  the  clear  light,  she  was  pleased 
to  remember  this  reserve.  It  gave  her  license 
as  to  the  eighteen  in  her  pocket. 

The  first  thing  she  realized  concerning  her 
self  was  that  her  clothes  were  all  wrong.  Of 
course,  being  second-hand,  they  were  several 
seasons  old  even  in  Broom  Corn,  but  they  had 
come  from  Broom  Corn's  best.  For  one 
brief  moment,  feeling  the  tightness  of  her 
dolman  over  her  arms,  Sheba  resented  New 
York  as  daring  to  oppose  Miss  Minervy 
Cheatham  in  so  trivial  a  matter  as  the  shape 
of  a  wrap.  Miss  Minervy,  the  judge's  daugh 
ter,  was  a  traveled  person,  who  used  lan 
guages,  and  who  rode  the  fields  about  Broom 
Corn  in  a  riding-habit,  the  only  one  extant  in 
the  vicinity,  and  she  easily  set  the  pace  for 
the  community  in  all  matters  of  dress  and 
etiquette.  Sheba  had  made  Miss  Minervy's 
spring  garden  two  years  before  for  this  wrap, 
—  a  seal  plush,  edged  with  fur, — and  as  she 
pressed  through  the  great-sleeved  throng  on 
this  first  gray  day,  she  remembered  that  it 
had  come  from  New  York  and  she  felt  be- 


QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  51 

trayed.  It  is  like  repudiating  a  debt— the 
way  some  cities  do.  Sheba  had  dug  and 
hoed  and  raked,  and  even  begun  to  gather, 
for  this  garment,  chiefly  because  it  had  been 
brought  from  New  York ;  and  when  she  had 
found  herself  hither  bound,  one  of  her  great 
est  pleasures  was  in  realizing  that  the  wrap 
question,  at  least,  was  happily  settled. 

But  the  dolman  had  begun  to  go  out  of 
fashion  at  the  first  town  where  the  train 
stopped,  and  it  had  grown  worse  at  every 
station  until  she  got  off  the  cars,  and  now, 
while  she  trod  the  city  of  its  birth,  she  felt 
it  shrink  into  the  past  with  every  step  she 
took.  She  did  not  care  for  the  motley  crowd 
on  the  streets,  but  she  did  dread  to  meet  the 
friend  upon  whom  she  was  to  depend  for  an 
introduction,  "looking"  as  she  mentally  ex 
pressed  it,  "like  a  tacky  from  'way  back." 
And  so,  instead  of  following  up  the  address 
she  carried,  she  began  to  watch  for  shop- 
windows,  and  finally,  after  she  had  been 
walking  for  an  hour  or  such  a  matter, — no 
great  walk  for  a  Broom  Corner,— she  suddenly 
disappeared  at  the  door  of  a  Sixth  Avenue 
department-store,  armed  with  her  eighteen 
dollars  and  a  mortal  discontent;  and  when 
she  came  out,  nearly  an  hour  later,  she  was 


52  QUEEN  0'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

radiant  in  the  coat  of  the  multitude,  stiff, 
far-trimmed,  double-breasted,  balloon-sleeved, 
and  with  a  storm-collar  that  in  its  flamboyant 
flare  answered  her  most  daring  spirit. 

She  would  have  bought  a  hat,  had  hats  not 
"been  so  dear.  She  had  tried  on  several,  how 
ever,  and  studied  them  to  such  effect  that, 
watching  her  chance,  she  tilted  her  own,  hind 
part  before,  on  the  back  of  her  head,  and  the 
result  was  so  gratifying  that  she  decided  to 
wear  it  so ;  and  when  she  had  secured  it  in 
place  with  a  nine-cent  jeweled  pin,  it  not 
only  answered  the  challenge  of  the  storm- 
collar,  but  set  the  pace  for  even  greater 
things.  Its  bows,  arranged  for  the  face, 
smiled  promiscuous  greetings  on  all  who 
walked  behind  it,  while  its  delighted  wearer 
opposed  them  by  a  beaming  front.  When 
Sheba  jostled  the  Sixth  Avenue  throng  again 
a  feather  boa  of  fine  presence  graced  her  neck. 
She  had  swung  it  there  quite  as  one  who 
had  habited  with  constrictors  all  her  life.  Of 
course,  the  storm-collar  repudiated  the  boa 
as  supererogatory,  but  Sheba  could  not  real 
ize  this.  Still,  to  do  her  justice,  she  had 
bought  it  as  a  bargain  rather  than  as  a 
needed  factor  in  her  toilet.  It  had  cost  but 
two  dollars  and  ninety-eight  cents,  the  odd 


QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  53 

cents  exactly  expressing  Its  recent  '-'reduc 
tion  "  (from  two  dollars).  And  in  this  certainly 
no  woman  who  knows  how  to  shop  can  blame 
her.  Have  we  not  all  done  likewise  ? 

Sheba  had  her  friend  in  mind  when  she 
stepped  into  the  street,  but  the  windows  were 
fascinating— in  more  ways  than  one.  Not 
only  were  they  glittering  allurements  in 
their  offerings,  but  each,  when  taken  at  a 
happy  angle,  became  a  mirror,  and  in  its  re 
flection  Sheba  saw  what  to  her  prejudiced 
eyes  was  the  figure  of  a  stately  and  finished 
New-Yorker.  The  transition  had  been  quick, 
it  is  true,  but  some  of  us  are  assimilative. 
Seeing  herself  thus,  it  was  perhaps  but  natu 
ral  that  she  should  have  hesitated  in  front  of 
a  photographer's,  "  just  to  look  "  at  the  beau 
tiful  tintypes  of  which  his  glaring  adver 
tisement  promised  to  supply  three  copies 
in  five  minutes,  and  for  only  twenty-five 
cents. 

Many  of  the  sample  pictures  in  the  show 
case  were  of  persons  of  her  own  color,  which 
was  an  added  attraction,  and— 

Well,  when  her  pictures  were  finished,  they 
fully  corroborated  the  flattering  testimony  of 
the  windows,  and  as  she  slipped  them  reluc 
tantly  into  her  pocket  und  started  on  hei' 


64  QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

way  up- town,  her  expression  was  quite  urbane 
and  self-complacent. 

She  had  asked  a  policeman  to  help  her  on 
her  way,  intuitively  recognizing  a  uniform 
bravely  worn  in  public  as  a  sort  of  stamp  of 
reliability. 

"  I  don't  know  who  you  is,  but  you 's  some 
body,  an'  you  ain't  a-hidin'  it."  So  she  had 
addressed  the  seven-foot  protector  of  the 
peace,  who  answered  her  with  his  index-finger, 
and  sent  her  flying  southward  in  an  elevated 
train  at  Fourteenth  Street.  How  could  a 
stranger  know  the  difference  between  Ninth 
Avenue  and  Ninth  Street?  The  fact  that 
Queen  o'  Sheba  Jackson  did  not  know  was 
important  inasmuch  only  as  it  made  it  late 
in  the  day  when,  having  returned  disap 
pointed  from  the  vicinity  of  the  Battery  after 
a  vain  pursuit,  she  found  that  the  number 
which  her  friend's  address  called  for  in  Ninth 
Street  was  nowhere  indicated.  The  place 
where  it  belonged  was  what  seemed  to  be  a 
pit,  out  of  which  emerged  ropes  and  pulleys, 
marked  in  the  early  twilight  by  a  red  lantern. 
The  house  had  been  torn  down. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  Sheba  felt  fright 
ened.  The  street-lamps  were  lighting,  and 
every  one  seemed  suddenly  to  be  hurrying 


QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  55 

home— or  somewhere.  She  did  not  feel  in 
clined  to  ask  a  policeman  to  direct  her  again. 
She  had  discovered  near  the  Battery  that 
these  uniformed  men  were  the  police,  having 
really  witnessed  one  in  action,  and  to  be 
consigned  to  a  lodging  by  such  as  one  of 
them  would  have  been  too  much  like  being 
in  custody  for  her  free  spirit. 

Her  present  dilemma,  however,  was  not  for 
long.  There  were  plenty  of  colored  people 
in  the  throng  in  Ninth  Street,  many  of  them 
evidently  going  home  from  work,  and  Sheba 
soon  found  herself  in  company  with  her  kind 
in  a  stately  tenement,  where  she  easily  got  a 
bed  by  a  small  prepayment.  Thus  she  en 
tered  upon  her  life  in  the  great  city. 

It  is  no  simple  matter  to  get  the  best  sort 
of  position  in  a  strange  place  when  one  has 
no  recommendation,  and  so  Sheba  was  con 
strained  to  begin  by  taking  what  even  to 
her  inexperience  seemed  a  second-best.  It 
afforded  her  a  home,  however,  and  the  mu 
nificent  wages  of  twelve  dollars  a  month,  so 
that  she  was  soon  able  to  write  a  letter  to 
her  people  which,  with  the  inclosed  tintype, 
told  so  startling  a  tale  of  instant  success  that, 
but  for  the  cost  of  the  trip,  many  of  them 
would  have  hastened  to  follow  her.  The  av- 


56  QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

erage  wages  iu  Broom  Corn  was  four  dollars, 
payable  generally,  iu  part  at  least,  iii  trade 
at  one  of  its  stores. 

CITY  life,  as  it  is  practised  in  New  York, 
was  trying  to  Sheba  in  many  ways.  She  had 
been  somewhat  of  a  local  celebrity  as  a  cook 
at  the  Bottom,  and  her  first  ardor  was  some 
what  dampened  when  she  came  to  discover 
that  her  skill  in  making  her  specialties— but 
termilk  and  beaten  biscuit,  for  instance— 
counted  for  naught,  and  that  her  frying-pan 
was  unavailable.  The  golden  bread,  fragrant 
at  home  with  the  sweetness  of  the  Indian 
meal,  was  here  a  poor,  sawdusty  thing  sug 
gestive  of  the  kiln,  and  needing  to  be  sugared 
to  become  palatable.  And  there  were  other 
disappointments.  Her  toilets  would  not  pass 
muster  with  people  of  any  form  whatever, 
and  her  speech  would  go  not  at  all  with  them. 
When  it  was  not  too  slow  it  was  altogether 
too  swift,  which  is  to  say  that  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  her  drawl  was  insufficient  to  compen 
sate  for  its  acceleration  under  provocation. 
From  a  second-class  place  she  was  constrained 
to  accept  one  of  the  third  rate,  which  is  a  de 
moralizing  experience.  It  takes  but  a  short 
pedigree  of  such  to  constitute  a  plebeian  in 


QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  57 

the  ranking  of  metropolitan  service,  and  a 
plebe  on  the  down  grade  seems  to  have  a 
poor  chance  to  alter  her  course.  At  least,  so 
it  seemed  in  Sheba's  case.  She  changed  situ 
ations  many  times  during  the  first  year,  and 
more  than  once  she  changed  against  her  will 
and  suddenly.  Life  was  hard,  and  there  were 
many  times  when,  but  for  her  challenged 
pride,  which  alone  of  her  attributes  seems  to 
have  remained  unsullied,  she  would  have  re 
turned  to  her  native  heath,  if  she  had  had  the 
money. 

At  one  time  she  fell  ill,  and  there  were 
days  of  experience  and  loneliness  when  she 
missed  things.  Even  in  the  hospital,  where 
everything  was  immaculate,  she  missed  the 
personal  attention  of  the  home  doctor,  whose 
habit  it  was  to  "  lump  "  the  servants'  bills  in 
with  the  yearly  accounts  of  his  white  patients 
whom  they  served  j  arid  she  missed  the  visiting 
sisters  of  the  church  in  the  doubtful  days  of 
slow  convalescence  and  of  her  "  setbacks." 
She  missed  space  and  air  and  freedom.  In 
deed,  it  sometimes  seemed  as  if  she  were  miss 
ing  everything.  The  even  beds  and  the  se 
rene  faces  of  the  nurses  palled  on  her,  and  she 
pined  for  the  home  air  charged  with  emotion. 
One  good  moan  or  an  "Amen!"  at  her  bed 


58  QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

side  and  a  mustard-plaster  that  would  weigh 
a  pound— such  as  these  were  the  things  for 
which  her  soul  hungered. 

WHEN  she  sent  the  prosperous-looking  tin 
type  of  herself  to  her  home  people,  Sheba 
had  no  intention  of  misrepresenting  her  con 
dition  any  more  than  she  had  when  she  re 
frained  from  mentioning  her  illness,  and  the 
fact  that  she  had  lain  for  several  weeks  a 
charity  patient  in  a  city  hospital.  One  has  a 
right  to  one's  reserves,  surely,  and  indeed  the 
bravest  of  us  sometimes  feel  that  in  maintain 
ing  silence  we  are  exercising  our  best  part. 

In  sending  the  tintype  she  had  meant  only 
to  say,  "  See  how  fine  I  look  in  my  New  York 
toggery ! "  And  if  the  picture  said,  instead, 
"  Behold  !  I  am  rich,  and  prosperous  and  su 
perior,  and  the  ring  upon  my  finger  is  a  dia 
mond,  and  my  fur- trimmed  garment  represents 
a  small  fortune  !  "  the  fault  was  hardly  hers. 
Even  if  she  had  anticipated  its  telling  so  exag 
gerated  a  tale,  she  would  not  have  suppressed 
it,  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  she  would 
not  have  expected  it  to  be  believed.  But 
when  one  wrote  her  from  the  plantation  that 
another  had  remarked  that  "  Queen  o'  Sheba 
Jackson  need  n't  to  think  that  because  she  's 


QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  59 

set  up  in  New  York  and  can  afford  to  sport 
fur  coats  and  diamonds  that  she  's  the  biggest 
toad  in  the  puddle/7  she  simply  did  not  deny 
the  allegation.  Indeed,  it  is  likely  that  the 
edifice  of  deceit  that  she  had  soon  begun  to 
build,  and  into  which  she  at  last  moved  bodily, 
was  the  direct  result  of  home  suggestion. 
The  imputations  of  affluence,  even  negatively 
confessed,  became  interesting  to  her,  and  ad 
versely  as  her  fortunes  declined  did  she  build 
upon  this  foundation  her  castle  of  indolence 
and  ease. 

The  city  address  which  she  gave  at  home, 
and  to  which  her  mail  was  sent,  was  the  tene 
ment  where  she  paid  twenty-five  cents  a  month 
for  trunk-space,  with  the  privilege  of  making 
it  a  dollar  a  week  when  she  was  pleased — or 
displeased — to  occupy  the  bed  beside  the 
trunk. 

During  the  first  year,  in  which  she  many 
times  changed  her  residence,  the  trunk  ad 
dress  was  only  twice  changed,  and  in  both 
instances  the  letters  sent  to  Broom  Corn 
hinted  that  its  removal— which,  of  course, 
was  ostensibly  hers— was  in  an  ascending 
scale. 

Sheba  really  told  very  few  lies  outright  about 
herself  and  her  fortunes  in  these  days,  and 


GO  QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

when  she  first  found  herself  ostensibly  writing 
from  her  own  apartment,  in  which  there  were 
"  stuffed  chairs,"  "  dumb-waiters  "  and  "  elec 
tion  bells"  (the  last  needing  only  to  be  touched 
to  produce  almost  any  desired  service),  she 
scarcely  knew  how  it  had  come  about.  In 
deed,  this  deception  was  in  the  beginning 
only  an  accident.  When  the  misleading  let 
ter  was  written,  she  was  actually  cooking  for 
the  family  of  a  "  floor- walker  "  in  Fourteenth 
Street,  and  it  was  true  that  these  attractive 
luxuries  were  there,  as  well  as  some  elegancies 
which  she  also  casually  mentioned ;  and  if  she 
artlessly  alluded  to  them  as  "  ours,"  it  was 
with  no  desire  to  deceive.  It  had  been  the 
habit  of  her  life  to  ally  herself  thus  with  the 
white  families  with  whom  she  lived. 

After  her  illness,  when  Sheba  came  out  of 
the  hospital,  she  was  but  a  shadow  of  her 
former  self.  She  was  not  strong  enough  to 
stand  the  heat  and  fatigue  of  cooking,  and 
after  trying  vainly  for  more  attractive  work, 
she  finally  found  herself  in  the  position  of 
cook's  assistant — otherwise  scullion  —  in  a 
Harlem  boarding-house.  She  had  presided 
over  a  better  kitchen  in  her  day,  and  she  felt 
pretty  blue  when  she  first  took  the  orders  of 
the  great  Irish  potentate,  "  Miss  Bridget,"  and 


QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  61 

became  conscious  that  of  all  the  servants 
there,  she  was  the  very  lowest  in  the  social 
order.  For  the  first  time  she  now  fully 
realized  that  there  was  absolutely  nothing 
worth  while  in  life  for  her  in  New  York, 
and  she  knew  that  she  would  never  go  home. 
With  this  last  realization  came  hopeless 
ness —  hopelessness  which  gradually  found 
expression  in  a  dogged  compliance. 

The  servants  all  slept  in  cots  on  the  base 
ment  floor,  and  naturally  the  last  comer 
always  had  to  take  the  worst  place  at  night, 
at  the  head  of  the  basement  stairs,  where  the 
draft  from  the  cellar  blew  over  her  cot  j  and 
when  Sheba  first  placed  hers  here  she  felt 
more  lonely  than  she  had  ever  felt  in  all  her 
life  before.  It  was  pretty  close  quarters  when 
all  the  cots  were  down,  but,  as  Maggie 
the  left-handed  dish-breaker,  once  remarked, 
"  There  ?s  fun  in  ut  when  a  person  gets  used  to 
utwanst — yis,  fun  and  company,"  she  laughed. 
But  Maggie  was  blessed  with  a  saving  sense 
of  humor,  and  on  her  very  first  night,  when 
she  had  accepted  the  cellar  draft,  she  bravely 
remarked  in  a  loud  voice,  as  she  emerged 
from  behind  the  clothes-rack,  where  she  had 
repaired  with  her  rosary  for  prayer :  "  Sure, 
there  's  no  room  to  be  lonesome  in  ut,  ony- 


62  QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

way  " ;  to  which  the  cook's  voice  had  replied, 
from  under  the  covers  in  the  kitchen :  "  Sure, 
an'  mony  's  the  toime  since,  I  'd  pay  a  guinea 
a  minute,  if  I  had  ut,  for  a  half-hour  o'  the 
lonesomeness  I  dthreaded  comun7  over." 

The  question  of  place  was  a  matter  of 
nightly  scramble,  excepting,  of  course,  in  the 
case  of  the  cook,  who  located  her  claim  ac 
cording  to  her  whim,  and  held  it  by  prestige, 
backed  on  occasion  by  brawn  and  language. 
The  servants  made  no  complaint  at  this  un 
avoidable  crowding;  and,  indeed,  it  would 
have  been  unreasonable  to  do  so,  for  did  not 
the  landlady,  who  would  almost  have  tipped 
the  scales  with  Bridget,  sleep  in  the  ostensible 
"escritory"  in  the  little  reception-room,  and 
repair  to  the  dish-closet  for  her  afternoon 
changes  of  toilet? 

Sheba  hated  the  cook,  and  she  hated  the 
lesser  maids  —  all  but  left-handed  Maggie, 
through  whose  promotion  she  had  come  into 
her  position.  It  is  true,  Maggie  said  the 
worst  things  to  her  on  provocation ;  but,  as 
she  expressed  it,  Maggie  "  talked  to  her  like 
a  human,"  which  was  some  comfort  It  was 
she  who  put  her  up  to  securing  a  better  place 
for  her  cot  at  night,  and  let  her  into  the  rule 
of  the  roost,  which  was  that  whoever  made 


QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  63 

down  her  bed  and  prayed  ~by  it  fixed  her  claim 
to  the  chosen  location  for  the  night,  all  ex 
cepting,  again,  the  cook,  who  weighed  three 
hundred  pounds,  and  said  her  prayers  in  bed— 
"  by  a  dispensation,"  so  she  said.  Maggie  as 
sured  her,  too,  once  when  she  was  in  one  of  her 
friendliest  moods,  that  she  did  n't  mind  col 
ored  people  since  she  had  got  used  to  them, 
and  that  it  was  a  holy  relief,  for  when  she  first 
came  over  she  crossed  herself  and  called  on 
the  blessed  Mother  every  time  she  met  one. 
The  laundress  was  colored,  and  so  was  the 
bell-boy,  who  went  home  at  night ;  but  they 
had  Eastern  pronunciations,  and  were  no  com 
pany  whatever  to  Sheba.  It  was  the  laun 
dress,  however,  who  unwittingly  brought  into 
her  life  the  element  of  hope  that  makes  it 
possible  to  write  a  sketch  of  her  which  may 
hold  so  fine  a  word  as  "  triumph." 

WHEN,  one  day,  a  well-dressed  white  man 
called  to  see  the  laundress,  Sheba  could  not 
help  overhearing  part  of  his  conversation  be 
fore  she  knew  who  he  was,  and  when  the 
woman  of  the  tubs  approached  her  haughtily 
and  said  that  Mr.  Stein  wished  an  introduc 
tion  to  her,  she  was  glad  to  speak  with  him. 
Mr.  Stein  represented  the  Afro- American 


64  QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

Funeral  Insurance  Company,  Limited,  and 
he  had  called  to  collect  her  dues  from  the 
laundress,  who  held  a  policy  in  his  company. 
His  desire  to  meet  Mrs.  Jackson  was  entirely 
in  the  character  of  solicitor,  and  if  he  had 
but  known  how  eagerly  she  listened  to  his 
every  word  as  he  set  forth  the  advantages  of 
his  corporation,  he  would  not  have  felt  it 
necessary  to  solicit  quite  so  warmly.  When 
she  had  lain  so  ill  in  the  hospital,  the  pros 
pect  of  an  unmarked  grave  in  potter's  field 
had  stared  her  in  the  face— a  pauper's  grave 
over  in  the  mosquito  country  which  she 
vaguely  knew  lay  somewhere  across  the  river. 
And  yet,  even  while  it  seemed  so  near,  she 
would  have  preferred  it  to  an  ignominious 
return  home  in  a  position  where  those  who 
had  most  fiercely  opposed  her  might  come 
and  stand  over  her  and  say  things  to  her  face, 
and  she  would  not  be  able  to  answer  them. 

For  a  trifle  paid  monthly  she  was  now  of 
fered  assurance  of  decent  burial.  An  added 
sum  would  guarantee  a  higher  grade  of  ser 
vice,  with  carriages  and  other  accessories. 
The  scale  ran  somewhat  like  this :  Fifty  cents, 
payable  monthly  before  the  third  day,  assured 
simple,  silent  burial,  with  no  "grievers." 
This  sum  doubled  would  secure  the  plumed 


QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  65 

hearse.  Twenty-five  cents  apiece,  paid  quar 
terly,  would  prepay  mourners,— a  comfortable 
provision  for  the  stranger,— while  a  dollar  a 
year  would  cover  the  cost  of  fresh  flowers. 
The  funeral  oration  was  offered  free  to  such 
as  "  took  up  "  all  the  other  advantages.  There 
was  a  neat  chapel  on  the  floor  above  the 
undertaker's  shop  of  the  company— a  chapel 
which  might  be  inspected  at  stated  times  by 
such  as  wished  to  verify  the  representations 
of  the  company's  agent.  Indeed,  for  such 
"  doubting  Thomases  "  there  were  occasional 
"sample  funerals"  given,  when  applicants 
for  policies  were  treated  without  cost  to  an 
entire  ceremonial,  even  to  the  ride  in  the 
carriage  to  the  cemetery.  Sheba  did  not  know 
about  this  premium  upon  hesitation  when 
she  so  readily  decided  to  embrace  the  proffered 
terms,  and,  indeed,  she  was  tempted  to  a  quick 
decision  by  Mr.  Stein's  kind  offer  to  advance 
the  money  for  the  first  payment  out  of  his 
own  pocket.  So  within  an  hour  after  she 
had  been  introduced  to  the  scheme  she  had 
mortgaged  her  precarious  income  for  a  full 
benefit:  six  mourners,— the  same  being  con 
sidered  "a  set,"— music,  flowers,  the  pom- 
poned  hearse  and  funeral  oration,  with  a  final 
bed  of  green,  were  now  hers  to  contemplate. 


66  QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

The  policy  crediting  her  with  a  first  payment, 
which  she  signed  in  the  presence  of  the  laun 
dress  and  the  bell-boy,— the  latter  didn't 
expect  to  die,  and  refused  to  insiire, — was  de 
livered  to  her  on  the  third  day  of  the  month 
following,  when  she  paid  double  dues,  making 
good  the  loan. 

Strange  to  say,  the  taking  of  the  policy  re 
vived  her  spirit  and  renewed  her  self-respect. 
The  fact  that  she  must  die  to  win  counted 
for  nothing  to  her.  She  would  win,  even 
though  she  died,  and  the  end  would  be  tri 
umphant,  no  matter  how  much  of  humiliation 
she  might  have  to  endure  in  the  interval. 
The  simple  fact  that  she  really  did  save  the 
money  to  keep  her  policy  paid  up  soon  began 
to  institute  within  her  an  upward  tendency. 
She  was  obliged  to  do  without  many  of  the 
baubles  which  it  had  been  her  habit  to  buy, 
and  she  was  obliged  to  guard  her  temper. 
It.  became  necessary  that  she  should  keep  her 
place.  The  ordinary  chances  of  life,  dealing 
with  fairly  amenable  material,  ought  out  of 
these  elements  to  evolve  a  pretty  respectable 
woman— in  time.  How  much  time  is,  of 
course,  a  question  of  the  special  case.  Sheba 
was  not  vicious,  although  she  did  some  things 
which  are  badly  catalogued  in  the  moral  code 


QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  67 

of  the  best  civilizations— but,  if  such  a  thing 
is  possible,  she  did  them  innocently. 

If  she  had  been  of  a  pious  turn,  no  doubt 
the  funeral  insurance,  with  its  formal  pres 
entation  of  death  beyond  contingency,  would 
have  instituted  a  revival  of  religion  within 
her  •  but  the  fact  is,  she  was  not  only  not  re 
ligious,  but  the  opposition  of  the  Broom  Corn 
congregation  had  set  her  stanchly  against 
the  church  even  in  her  adopted  home. 

She  had  made  an  emotional  connection 
with  the  Methodist  Church  when  she  was 
very  young,  but  before  she  was  well  grown 
she  had  recklessly  danced  herself  out  of  its 
fold,  and  had  never  resumed  active  member 
ship  with  it,  although  she  had  generally 
gone  to  church  at  Broom  Corn,  and  was 
enrolled  as  one  of  its  straying  sheep  long 
before  she  had  actually  wandered  beyond  its 
jurisdiction. 

ON  a  certain  morning  several  months  after 
she  had  taken  her  insurance  policy,  Queen  o' 
Sheba  waked  with  a  start  before  day,  and, 
raising  herself  upon  her  elbow,  looked  about 
her.  She  had  scarcely  slept  all  night,  and 
even  in  the  dim  light  of  the  gas  turned  low 
her  face  showed  marks  of  distress.  It  was 


68  QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

evident  that  there  was  something  on  her 
mind,  and  that  it  was  disturbing  her  sorely. 

As  she  glanced  from  the  clothes  and  shoes 
strewn  over  the  floor  to  the  faces  of  the 
sleepers,  whose  vociferous  snorings  almost 
deadened  the  sounds  of  the  rats  tumbling  in 
the  wall,  a  change  came  over  her  face  and  for 
a  moment  her  eyes  fairly  twinkled  with  mer 
riment.  A  sense  of  the  ludicrous  had  come 
to  her  relief. 

"For  Gord's  sake!"  she  chuckled.  "No 
wonder  I  dremp  about  a  boat-race."  And 
then,  fairly  shaking  with  suppressed  laugh 
ter,  she  added :  "  Name  o'  Gord !  jes  look  at 
my  cushioned  cheers— an'  my  piany— an'  my 
gilt  sofy— an'  my— 

She  ducked  her  head  suddenly  under  the 
cover,  lest  she  should  rouse  the  cook;  for 
while  she  laughed  she  observed  that  one 
whistling  steamer  in  the  race  had  failed  to 
come  to  time,  and  she  was  pretty  sure  it  was 
the  Bridget. 

When  she  poked  her  head  out  again  in  a 
moment,  however,  there  were  only  the  old 
marks  upon  it,  care  lines  and  the  deep-set 
eyes  that  tell  of  failing  health  and  disap 
pointment—only  these,  with  the  added  shade 
of  a  new  trouble. 


QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TEIUMPH  69 

Sheba  was  in  trouble  indeed— trouble  of 
an  altogether  unexpected  sort,  which  in  its 
descent  upon  her  tired  mind  had  nearly 
stunned  her.  The  blow  had  fallen  early  the 
morning  before,  and  all  day  she  had  done  her 
work  in  a  perfunctory  manner,  half  dazed 
and  brooding,  and  when  Maggie  had  sym 
pathetically  asked  what  ailed  her,  she  had 
only  shaken  her  head  moodily  and  drawled, 
"Nothin'in  p'tic'lar." 

The  thing  that  had  really  befallen  her  was 
a  joyous  letter  from  home— a  letter  which 
brought  her  only  ostensibly  "  good  news n 
from  her  people.  Surely  it  ought  to  be  good 
news  to  know  that  one's  friends  are  coming ! 

It  would  have  been  good  news  to  poor 
Sheba  if  things  had  been  different. 

The  situation  was  this : 

Delegates  from  all  the  societies  of  the  vari 
ous  colored  churches  in  and  about  Broom 
Corn  had  decided  to  take  advantage  of  special 
rates  to  New  York  to  attend  a  reunion,  and 
at  least  half  the  delegates  were  Sheba's 
personal  friends. 

It  was  even  likely  that  one  or  two  members 
of  her  own  family  would  make  a  break  and 
come.  Of  course  they  were  all  delighted  at 
the  prospect  of  the  visit,  and  the  letter  an- 


70  QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

nouncing  their  coming  was  the  most  personal 
and  affectionate  that  poor  Sheba  had  gotten 
since  she  had  left  home. 

This  added  to  her  pain  in  the  matter,  if 
anything  conld  have  made  it  worse  after  the 
simple  fact  had  reached  her.  Really  the  let 
ter  frightened  her  so  that  she  trembled,  and 
she  had  not  quite  realized  its  contents  until  she 
had  sat  and  read  it  carefully  again  and  again, 
"studyin*  over  it"  between  readings  until  it 
was  all  plain. 

She  had  not  the  slightest  idea  what  to  do. 
Her  first  impulse  was  to  run.  She  could 
easily  take  her  trunk,  leaving  no  new  address 
behind  it  at  the  old  place;  but  this  would 
invite  disaster  as  certainly  as  holding  her 
ground.  This  last,  however,  she  could  not 
contemplate.  The  fact  is,  she  had  no  ground 
to  hold.  If  she  could  not  allow  her  friends 
to  go  to  the  address  through  which  she  had 
received  her  letters,  and  to  discover  her  fraud, 
neither  could  she  invite  them  to  visit  her  in 
the  basement  where  she  had  during  the  day 
only  right  of  way  between  the  sink  and  the 
window  where  she  peeled  potatoes,  and 
debatable  cot-space  at  night. 

No  wonder  she  was  troubled  as  she  lay 
thinking  the  matter  over  in  the  early  morn- 


QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  71 

ing  hours.  Who  that  has  suffered— which  is 
to  say,  who  that  has  lived— does  not  know 
this  tragedy-time  when  life's  fortifications 
are  unguarded,  and  its  lanterns  cast  green 
lights  in  which  yesterday's  trivialities  get 
their  innings  as  dancing  imps  of  terror  ? 

Sheba  had  been  tormented  by  three-o'clock- 
in-the-morning  visions  before  now.  From 
her  cot  she  had  seen  the  little  shouting  corn- 
plaster  man  standing  on  a  wheelbarrow,  a 
giant  above  her  head,  and  reaching  down  what 
seemed  the  distance  of  a  block,  with  an  arm 
that  lengthened  as  she  eluded  it,  he  had  tried 
to  snatch  her  pocket-book  from  her  hand,  as 
she  stood  in  the  crowd  and  her  eyes  were 
blinded  with  light ;  and  she  had  waked  with 
a  shriek  on  Sunday  morning  gaspingly  to 
recover  the  memory  that  she  had  really  spent 
a  dime  for  a  box  of  russet-shoe  polish  in 
Ninth  Avenue,  the  night  before,  from  the  irre 
sistible  orator  behind  the  corn-plasterer,  when 
she  had  not  a  russet  shoe  to  her  feet  and  was 
twenty-five  cents  short  on  her  insurance. 
She  knew  about  this  kind  of  filmy  draped 
ghosts  that  change  shape  and  finally  melt  and 
disappear  in  the  light  of  day,  leaving  only 
the  disposal  of  a  trivial  obligation  to  dispel 
them  utterly. 


72  QUEEN  O'  SIIEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

But  tliis  was  of  another  sort.  It  waked 
her  with  a  sense  of  discomfort  only,  and 
a  vague  foreboding  which  took  a  far  worse 
shape  than  the  bugaboo  of  her  dream  as  the 
mists  of  sleep  cleared  and  left  it  before  her 
frightened  consciousness,  a  naked,  horrible 
fact.  Yes,  it  was  true.  Her  people  were  com 
ing.  It  was  not  a  dream.  They  were  coming, 
expecting  to  visit  her  in  her  own  home.  She 
had  told  them  she  had  a  home— she  had  even 
described  it  to  them ;  and  they  were  coming- 
yes,  they  were  coming.  Jake  Byers,  the 
preacher,  was  coming,  and  Sol  Tyler,  and 
maybe  her  stepsister  Cely,  and  the  Lord  knew 
how  many  more.  When  she  had  gone  over 
and  over  the  fact  in  her  mind,  she  suddenly 
dropped  back  on  her  pillow  and  closed  her 
eyes,  and  as  she  drew  the  comforter  up  over 
her  breast  her  hand  touched  an  envelop 
which  lay  there.  It  held  her  funeral  insur 
ance  policy.  She  always  kept  it  about  her 
person,  to  make  sure  that  in  case  she  should 
die  suddenly  it  should  be  found— a  wise  pre 
caution  for  one  prospect! vely  alone  in  death. 
And  so,  pinned  inside  her  dress  during  the 
day,  and  at  night  attached  to  her  chemise,  the 
policy  bore  her  company. 

Excepting  a  few  old  clothes,  it  was  the  only 


QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  73 

thing  she  possessed  in  the  world,  and  when 
her  hand  accidentally  touched  it  this  morning 
she  clutched  it  with  a  pitiful,  convulsive  move 
ment.  In  a  moment,  still  pressing  her  hand 
over  her  treasure,  she  suddenly  sat  up  in  bed, 
and  in  another  she  had  risen  to  her  feet ;  and 
when  she  had  picked  out  her  things  from  the 
floor,  she  tiptoed  cautiously  out  of  the  room. 
She  was  in  so  much  trouble  that  it  irritated 
her  to  see  others  asleep,  and  she  even  resented 
the  snores  by  which  they  seemed  to  boast  that 
they  were  sleeping. 

As  she  went  out  she  mumbled :  "  Do,  fer 
Gord  sake,  lemme  git  out  o'  dis  bedlam  whar 
I  kin  hear  myse'f  think  !  "  And  when  she  had 
gotten  quite  beyond  ear-shot  she  added: 
" Thank  Gord  I  ain't  no  po'  white!  Deze 
heah  Dutch  an'  Irish  can  out-sno'e  a  sugar- 
house  in  grindin'  season." 

When  she  had  reached  the  laundry,  she 
pushed  up  the  window,  and  stood  within  it, 
breathing  deeply.  It  was  her  habit  thus  to 
fill  her  lungs  when  she  arose,  the  nights 
seeming  to  leave  her  weary  and  short  of 
breath. 

Day  had  not  yet  broken,  and  it  was  nearly 
dark.  Still,  she  could  discern  the  form  of  a 
black  cat  as  it  ran  across  the  back  yard,  and 


74:  QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

when  it  uttered  a  low  "  Miaou ! n  she  shud 
dered  from  the  habit  of  fear.  It  was  a  bad 
omen— a  black  cat's  crossing  her  vision  and 
crying  out  to  her  in  the  dark.  It  was  a  sign 
of  death.  At  another  time  she  would  have 
put  down  the  window  and  come  quickly  away  ; 
but  not  so  now.  After  her  first  shock  she 
laughed  almost  bitterly  as  she  muttered: 
"  Miaou  away  much  as  you  like.  I  on'y 
wusht  to  Gord  you  'd  fetch  me  de  fatal  mes 
sage  about  de  middle  o'  nex'  week.  I  'd  show 
dem  Broom  Corners  a  sight." 

She  lit  the  gas  as  she  spoke,  and  took  the 
policy  from  her  bosom  and  unfolded  it,  and 
as  she  looked  over  it  she  read  aloud  slowly : 
"  A  white  cashmere  shroud— an'  a  cherry- 
wood  coffin— wid  silver  handles— dicorated 
wid  flowers— an'  six  veiled  mo'ners— an'  a 
fim'al  oration— an'  de  dead-march— an'  a 
plumed  hearse— an'  fo'  ca'iages—  And  as 
she  began  nervously  to  refold  it,  she  added : 
"  Oh,  Lord,  send  it  quick— send  it  quick  !  Yas, 
kitty,  I  pray  de  Lord  you  come  wid  de  fatal 
message,  shore  'nough.  I  Jm  petered  out ! " 

She  was  coughing  a  little  from  the  chill 
air,  and  she  turned  from  the  window  to  the 
faucet,  where  she  washed  her  face,  and  then 
she  began  putting  on  her  clothes. 


QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  75 

"  Dis  heah  fun'al  policy  is  a  fus'-class  chist 
pertector,"  she  chuckled,  as  she  presently  laid 
the  envelop  inside  her  corset. 

"  Eh,  Lord !  ef  I  could  on'y  reelize  on  it 
nex'  week  I  'd  mek  dem  bottom-Ian'  delicates 
open  dey  eyes." 

Her  words  were  unmeasured,  consciously 
expressing  only  her  distress ;  but  when  they 
fell  upon  her  ears  a  meaning  beyond  her 
thought  startled  her,  and  she  held  her  breath. 
If  she  could  only  realize  on  the  policy  next 
week! 

"  What 's  de  matter  wid  drawin'  dis  fun'al 
in  advance,  I  'd  like  to  know  ? "  she  muttered 
presently.  "  I  ain't  got  much  longer  to  live 
nohow,  an'  I  kin  pay  on  it  long  as  I  hold  out, 
an'  take  to  de  potter's  field  when  I  die.  It 's 
as  good  a  place  to  lay  in  as  any,  ef  a  pusson 
don't  try  to  ca'y  name  an'  station  into  it. 
Jes  so  I  'm  in  hearin'  o'  Gab'iel's  horn—" 

It  was  a  seed-thought  that  had  come  to  her, 
and  it  had  fallen  into  willing  soil  under 
forcing  conditions.  In  ten  minutes  it  had 
not  only  taken  root,  but  was  flourishing  and 
throwing  out  tendrils  of  hope  in  every  di 
rection. 

The  scheme  was  great.  It  would  eliminate 
the  personal  quantity  absolutely,  and  her  dig- 


76  QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

nity  would  be  vindicated  in  the  eyes  of  her 
scorners.  Of  course,  the  Broom  Corn  dele 
gates  would  be  notified  and  invited  to  the 
funeral  in  a  body.  The  company  gave  sample 
funerals  sometimes  on  occasion.  Why  not 
give  one  now,  and  just  name  it  after  her? 

If  only  Mr.  Stein  could  be  made  to  see  it 
as  she  saw  it ! 

At  first,  naturally  enough,  Mr.  Stein  could 
not  be  made  to  see  it  at  all.  Indeed,  he  vir 
tuously  denounced  it  on  sight  as  simply  "  wil- 
lainous,"  emphasizing  his  disapproval  with  a 
volley  of  polite  profanity. 

As  the  benefits  of  the  exceptional  attendance 
unfolded  themselves  to  his  alert  ears,  however, 
he  began  to  veer  a  little  and  to  ask  questions. 

Ten  societies  were  to  be  represented. 
And  there  would  be  several  delegates  from 
each,  nearly  all  of  whom  she  would  probably 
know,  and  who  would  come  to  her  funeral. 

Of  course  there  were  many  difficulties. 

For  one  important  thing,  her  friends  would 
wish  to  see  the  corpse.  This,  however,  Sheba 
blew  away  with  a  breath.  She  would  leave 
last  requests.  Indeed,  every  obstacle  finally 
gave  way  under  the  pressure  of  her  superior 
will,  and  it  was  soon  Mr.  Stein  who  was  sug 
gesting  things.  As  a  proxy,  for  instance, 


QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  77 

there  were  two  customers  on  hand  now,  await 
ing  burial.  One  was  a  suburban  lady  whose 
family  had  sent  her  in,  but  he  had  found  that 
her  policy  was  not  paid  up.  He  had  intended 
to  put  her  quietly  away,  not  because  he  was 
in  any  way  obliged  to  do  so,  but  simply  be 
cause  he  considered  her  room  better  than  her 
company.  She  was  about  Mrs.  Jackson's 
color.  "  Y'unger,  perhaps,  but  yust  apout  de 
face,  py  golly!  Maybe,  after  all,  ve  could 
ugspose  der  corpse."  So  he  developed  the 
scheme. 

When  Sheba  sat  at  the  ironing-board  in 
the  laundry,  that  night,  writing  home,  she  was 
more  than  once  obliged  to  lay  down  her  pen 
and  hold  her  aching  sides  for  laughing. 

Of  course,  the  letter  expressed  her  delight 
in  the  prospect  of  seeing  her  people.  "  She 
wrote  only  a  few  lines,  because  she  was  so 
very  busy  moving.  The  house  where  she 
had  lived  had  just  burned  to  the  ground,  and 
her  things  had  been  saved  only  by  a  chance. 
She  would  meet  the  delegates  at  the  station, 
and  take  them  home  for  dinner." 

The  letter  closed  with  the  casual  remark 
that  she  was  suffering  a  little  with  "  palperta- 
tion  of  the  heart,"  but  she  was  otherwise  well. 

This  was  the  edge  of  the  wedge. 


78  QUEEN   O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

A  later  letter,  which  followed  in  a  few  days, 
although  gay  and  hopeful  in  spirit,  let  fall 
another  hint  of  heart  trouble.  She  had  de 
cided  upon  "heart  failure"  for  her  taking 
off.  She  had  discovered  that  it  was  a  swell 
New  York  method.  Several  distinguished 
people  had  been  reported  as  dying  of  heart 
failure.  It  had  a  good  sound,  and  was  sud 
den  and  unexpected. 

When  she  had  proposed  the  mock  funeral, 
Sheba  had  not  dreamed  of  anything  so  au 
dacious  as  attending  it  herself,  but  the  plan 
had  scarcely  assumed  definite  shape  before 
she  determined  to  do  so.  Indeed,  when  the 
idea  had  once  entered  her  mind,  nothing  could 
dissuade  her,  and  there  was  really  no  consid 
erable  risk  in  it.  She  was  emaciated  in  com 
parison  with  her  former  self,  and  she  had 
learned  the  Afro-urban  art  of  effectively  ap 
plying  red  and  white  to  a  dark  skin.  Added 
to  these  screeneries,  there  was  a  new  bearing^ 
of  which  she  was  unconscious.  She  held  her 
arms  nearer  her  body  than  of  old,  as  people 
learn  to  do  in  a  crowded  city,  and  she  pitched 
less  than  she  had  done  in  her  spacious  field 
life  at  Broom  Corn. 

WHEN    she   entered  the  chapel,   a  fidl    ten 


QUEEN  0'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  79 

minutes  before  the  hour  appointed  for  the 
obsequies,  surely  no  one  would  have  known 
her,  not  even  Bridget,  the  cook,  had  she  met 
her  suddenly,  beplumed  and  veiled,  in  the 
hallway.  Sheba  had  crept  out  of  her  cot  dur 
ing  the  night  before,  and  stealthily  descended 
to  the  basement,  where  she  easily  "  borrowed  " 
such  finery  as  she  needed  from  several  trunks 
in  storage  there. 

Mr.  Stein  saw  her  when  she  came  into  the 
chapel,  and  when  he  recognized  her  he  came 
forward  and  politely  led  her  to  a  front  seat. 
As  she  sat  and  looked  upon  the  silver-han 
dled  coffin,  covered  with  flowers,  before  the 
altar,  and  realized  its  implication,  her  heart 
thumped  so  that  it  shook  her  body. 

Mr.  Stein  was  very  busy  putting  last 
touches  here  and  there,  and  when  he  finally 
satisfied  himself,  he  came  and  formally  in 
vited  Sheba  to  examine  the  decorations.  He 
had  evidently  done  his  best.  Long  sprays  of 
smilax  depending  from  the  chandelier  found 
effective  attachment  in  the  handles  of  the 
casket,  and  there  were  standing  in  every 
direction  ferns  and  palms  galore,  all  chemi 
cally  treated  mummified  affairs,  waxed  and 
awful,  grim  monuments  of  death  simulating 
life. 


80  QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

As  Sheba  stood  beside  the  coffin,  filled  with 
admiration  and  a  gruesome  triumph,  she  was 
suddenly  seized  with  a  wild  desire  to  see  the 
face  within.  She  had  a  mean  feeling  of  re 
sentment  toward  it,  as  a  usurper  who  was 
taking  advantage  of  her  in  her  extremity, 
and  whose  place  in  the  potter's  field  she 
would  herself  have  to  occupy. 

"  Some  folks  is  sho  born  to  luck,"  she  was 
maliciously  reflecting,  while  Mr.  Stein  slid 
back  the  coffin  lid  j  but  when  she  peeped  in 
she  gasped. 

"  Who  is  it  ? "  she  whispered  hoarsely,  when 
at  last  she  could  speak,  turning  to  Mr.  Stein, 
whose  soft  hand  supported  her  elbow. 

"  Nopoddy,"  he  replied.  "  She  's  schust  de 
tummy;  she  '&  vax.  But  ain't  she  a  taisy, 
heh?" 

The  real  presence  of  death  in  the  garment 
of  life  was  bad  enough,  but  there  was  some 
thing  even  more  gruesome  and  revolting  in 
this  second  masquerade.  Involuntarily  Sheba 
shrank  back,  shuddering,  from  the  ghastly 
thing. 

Seeing  her  embarrassment,  Mr.  Stein  has 
tened  to  explain  :  "  Dot  oder  party  vot  loogs 
like  you  olready,  her  vamily  hanks  too  close-t 
arount.  Odervise  ve  vould  have  udilized  her, 


QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  81 

und  your  friendts  could  haf  looked  upon  der 
faze  of  der  corpse.  She  vas  schust  your 
schtyle  ugzactly.  Some  of  her  peoples  got 
inwited  to  your  funeral  to-day,  und  ven  dey 
see  der  peautiful  ceremony  I  t'ink  maybe 
dey  put  up  de  money.  De  tummy,  ve  put  'er 
in  for  veight,  schust,  so  de  ball-bearers  dey 
don't  sushpecd  not'ing.  She  veighs  a  hundred 
und  eighdy-nine  pounds  olready." 

She  had  heard  scarcely  a  word  he  said  until 
now,  but  his  last  words  startled  her. 

"  Dat  's  de  precise  notch  I  weighed  when  I 
come  f'om  Broom  Corn,"  she  drawled,  in  an 
awed  voice,  "  an'  fer  face  an'  features,  look 
like  I  kin  see  myse'f  layin'  dar.  I  'm  jes 
swathed  in  a  col'  sweat  lookin'  at  myse'f. 
Tell  de  trufe,  'cep'n'  fer  de  tightness  o'  dis 
frock  an'  de  way  it 's  got  de  spine  o'  my  back 
on  a  strain,  I  'd  think  maybe  it  was  me." 

Mr.  Stein  turned  and  scanned  her  narrowly. 

"  But  der  mouf  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  You  can't  jedge  nothin'  't  all  'bout  my 
mouf  sence  my  toofs  all  drapped  out.  Dat 
Eighth  Avenyer  doctor  he  gimme  a  overdose-t 
o'  calomon.  When  dey  fell  out,  seem  like  my 
courage  fell  wid  'em,  too." 

Seeing  him  still  dubious,  Sheba  bethought 
her  of  the  tintype— one  of  the  original  three 


82  QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

which  she  carried  in  her  pocket-book.  In  a 
moment  she  had  taken  it  out  and  held  it  up 
before  him. 

"  Dat  was  me  on'y  jes  but  two  yeahs  ago," 
she  said  tentatively. 

Mr.  Stein  was  satisfied.  With  a  wave  of 
his  hand  he  dismissed  the  subject,  and  when 
he  arranged  the  flowers  on  the  coffin  again 
he  placed  them  lower  on  the  lid,  as  he 
chuckled,  "  Ve  oggshibit  de  corpse." 

While  they  spoke  there  came  a  flash  of 
lightning,  and  presently  another,  and  simul 
taneously  with  the  first  sound  of  low  thunder 
Sheba  heard  footsteps  on  the  stairs,  and  she 
staggered  rather  than  walked  back  to  her  seat. 

The  comers  were  the  hired  mourners.  They 
wore  long  black  veils,  and  when  they  had 
reached  the  coffin,  walking  by  twos,  they 
separated,  taking  seats,  four  at  the  head  and 
two  at  the  foot  of  the  casket.  Of  course  they 
were  not  in  the  secret.  Some  secrets  are  for 
the  principals  only— and  the  fewer  of  these 
the  better. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  Broom  Corn 
delegates  came  tramping  up  the  stairs,  their 
new  brogans  on  the  uncarpeted  steps  sound 
ing  like  a  drove  of  horses.  Sheba  recognized 
their  tread,  and  she  tried  to  fan  herself  care- 


QUEEN  O>   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  83 

lessly  when  she  knew  they  were  entering,  but 
her  hand  trembled  so  that  she  was  obliged  to 
lay  down  her  fan. 

She  sat  near  the  wall,  and  by  turning  a 
little  she  could  see  her  own  people  when  they 
came  up  the  aisle.  There  were  several  women 
among  them,  and  these  hid  their  faces  in  their 
handkerchiefs  with  a  proper  show  of  grief. 
When  the  presiding  minister  appeared,  ar 
rayed  in  clerical  robes,  Sheba  was  much  im 
pressed;  still  her  chief  thought  was  of  the 
effect  upon  her  friends,  for  even  in  this  criti 
cal  moment  her  mental  comment  was,  "I 
s'pec'  dey  '11  all  think  I  done  turned  High 
Church  Tiscopal  up  heah  in  New  York." 

But  when  the  minister  began  to  lead  in 
prayer,  and  she  heard  the  brave  responses  of 
her  people,  whose  cries  of  "  Amen ! "  and 
"  Glory  !  "  came  clear  and  strong  from  several 
directions,  she  was  strangely  moved. 

The  service  was  imposing  from  the  begin 
ning,  and  if  the  sermon  was  short  and  some 
what  impersonal  as  a  tribute,  it  was  pyro 
technic  in  its  oratory ;  and  when  it  came  to  a 
dramatic  close,  Sheba  knew  by  the  breathless 
stillness  that  followed  that  the  hour  was  ripe, 
and  she  raised  her  thin  voice  and  sailed  in 
with  a  plantation  hymn  which  she  knew  she 


84  QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

could  count  on  for  power.  This  was  the  only 
fillip  she  gave,  but  it  was  enough.  The  ex 
citement  which  had  flickered  in  ejaculations 
here  and  there  now  fairly  burst  into  flame, 
sweeping  everything  before  it.  In  the  pauses, 
while  they  passed  from  hymn  to  hymn,  the 
delegates  rose  one  after  another,  and  some 
times  two  at  a  time,  to  eulogize  the  lamented 
sister,  who,  while  she  listened  to  her  imputed 
virtues,  recognized  her  old  self  not  at  all,  and 
there  were  critical  moments  when  she  almost 
lost  her  bearings. 

It  was  only  when  they  began  to  press  for 
ward  to  view  the  remains  that  they  became 
quiet,  and  even  then  the  silence  was  occa 
sionally  broken  by  a  sob.  "  Brother  Byers," 
the  Broom  Corn  preacher,  led  the  way,  and,  as 
a  privileged  character,  lingered  at  the  coflin 
to  exchange  a  word  with  the  others  as  they 
passed  in  turn.  Sheba  sat  very  near,  and 
she  could  not  help  overhearing  what  they 
said.  It  was  plain  that  all  were  deeply  im 
pressed  with  the  splendor  of  the  affair,  and 
most  of  their  comments  were  complimentary, 
which  is  to  say  that  such  as  failed  to  declare 
that  "Sis'  Jackson"  looked  "puffec'ly  nachel" 
found  her  improved  in  flesh— all  excepting 
one.  The  only  distinctly  derogatory  word 


QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  85 

uttered— and,  paradoxically,  it  was  this  which 
pleased  her  most— was  spoken  by  the  rever 
end  Byers,  him  whose  opposition  had  been  a 
potent  factor  in  her  coming  to  New  York. 

As  he  leaned  over  the  coffin,  Sheba  heard 
him  whisper  to  Sam  Simpleton,  his  presiding 
elder :  "  I  don't  want  to  wrong  de  dead,  but 
f'om  de  way  Sis'  Jackson's  face  looks  to  me,  I 
s'picion  dat  her  sudden t  demise  is  de  result  o' 
high  livin' !  You  know  Sis'  Jackson  allus  is 
hankered  arter  de  flesh-pots."  And  when  he 
shook  his  head  mournfully,  old  Sam  shook 
his,  also.  He  thought  so,  too.  His  assent 
delighted  Sheba  especially  because  she  had 
once  been  married  to  old  Sam,  and  she  hated 
him  as  few  ex-husbands,  even,  are  hated. 

Sheba  was  standing  it  all  very  well,  which 
means  that  she  was  keeping  pretty  well  out 
of  it.  Although  there  were  frequent  crises 
when  she  choked  up  a  little,  she  bravely  main 
tained  her  position  as  a  quiet  observer  almost 
to  the  end. 

It  began  suddenly  to  be  hard  for  her  when 
she  discovered  that  the  occasional  suppressed 
note  of  real  sorrow  that  had  gone  to  her 
heart  and  almost  upset  her  had  come  from 
her  stepsister  Cely.  She  did  not  know  cer 
tainly  that  Cely  had  come  until  she  saw  her 


80  QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

ashy  face  as  she  approached  the  coffin ;  and 
when  she  threw  herself  upon  it,  and,  calling 
upon  God  to  witness,  accused  herself  of  1111- 
sisterly  conduct  to  her  "beloved  Queenie," 
for  whose  leaving  home  she  freely  blamed 
herself,  Sheba  trembled  so  that  she  could 
hardly  sit  up. 

Cely  was  a  shining  light  in  the  church  at 
Broom  Corn.  The  ultimatum  of  all  her  re 
lated  experiences  was  always  "  Glory,  hallelu 
iah  !  "  and  her  refuge  did  not  fail  her  to-day. 

Sheba  knew  her  ways,  and  had  no  respect 
whatever  for  her  religion.  It  was  not  that 
which  moved  her.  The  ties  of  blood  and 
home  are  strong,  even  though  they  be  atten- 
ua^ted.  It  was  the  familiar  face  and  the  thou 
sand  memories  it  wakened— this,  with  the 
note  of  genuine  grief  in  the  wail— that  tore 
her  tired,  homesick  heart  asunder. 

There  was  abject,  honest  remorse  in  the 
broken  voice  that  begged  the  waxen  face  for 
forgiveness. 

Sheba  had  begun  to  sob  aloud,  and  was  so 
evidently  losing  self-control  that  Mr.  Stein 
was  growing  uneasy,  when  Cely  reached  her 
climax,  and,  with  a  shriek,  threw  herself  over 
the  coffin,  falling  in  a  swoon. 

This  proved  but  an  anti-climax,  however, 


QUEEN  O'   SHEBA'S  TEIUMPH  87 

for  even  while  Cely  was  being  carried  into 
another  room,  Sheba,  gaunt  and  wan,  had 
risen  from  her  seat  and  was  trying  to  speak. 

In  this  her  darkest  hour  of  guilt,  when  she 
had  dared  trifle  with  the  dread  mystery,  a 
sudden  light  had  broken  upon  her  darkened 
spirit,— a  light  which  she  interpreted  as  con 
version,— and  she  could  not  be  silent  another 
minute. 

In  a  twinkling  she  had  realized  a  saving 
grace  and  felt  again  the  joy  that  had  come  to 
her  but  once,  in  her  early  religious  experi 
ence,  and  she  rose  to  proclaim  her  identity 
and  her  sin.  She  would  make  a  full  confes 
sion,  and  would  go  back  home  with  her  peo 
ple,  a  prodigal  daughter,  but,  by  the  help  of 
God,  for  the  rest  of  her  days  an  honest 
woman. 

As  she  opened  her  lips  there  came  a  blind 
ing  flash  of  lightning,  accompanied  by  a  clap 
of  thunder. 

Three  times  did  she  essay  to  speak,  and 
three  times  was  she  thus  silenced.  But  the 
spirit  was  in  her,  and  neither  principalities 
nor  powers  could  hold  her  now. 

Seeing  finally  that  words  could  gain  no 
hearing  in  the  bursting  storm,  she  threw 
up  her  hands,  shouting,  "Glory!  glory! 


88  QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

glory ! n  again  and  again  and  again,  with 
growing  fervor  and  lessening  voice,  until, 
with  a  gasp,  she  fell  into  Mr.  Stein's  arms, 
and  he  hastened  to  bear  her  away.  He  car 
ried  her  to  the  small  antechamber  opposite 
that  in  which  the  Broom  Corn  delegates  were 
working  over  her  sister,  trying  to  bring  her 
back  to  consciousness. 

It  had  been  his  purpose,  before  starting  to 
the  cemetery,  to  call  attention  to  this  as  one 
of  his  company's  typical  funerals,  and  to 
exploit  its  advantages;  but  the  storm  had 
demoralized  his  congregation,  and  the  un 
precedented  conduct  of  his  ostensible  corpse 
had  so  demoralized  him  that  he  hastened  to 
announce  that,  in  consequence  of  the  inclem 
ent  weather,  the  interment,  to  which  all  the 
present  company  were  cordially  invited,  would 
be  postponed  until  the  following  morning. 

He  wanted  to  get  them  out  of  the  way  be 
fore  Sheba  should  recover  herself,  not  know 
ing  what  she  might  do  or  where  he  would 
stand.  The  deferred  funeral  would  give 
him  time  to  get  her  in  order,  and  another 
opportunity  to  "work  his  business." 

While  he  went  about  looking  after  his 
slowly  departing  guests,  he  stepped  occasion 
ally  to  the  door  and  peeped  in  to  see  how 


QUEEN  0'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  89 

Sheba  was  getting  along,  and  he  was  pleased 
to  observe  that  she  seemed  not  to  have  moved 
from  her  position  on  the  lounge  where  he  had 
laid  her. 

Some  of  the  delegates  had  not  brought 
umbrellas,  and  they  were  somewhat  nervous 
about  keeping  in  a  body,  lest  they  should  lose 
their  way,  so  that  it  was  perhaps  an  hour  be 
fore  the  last  one  had  gone  5  and  Mr.  Stein, 
turning  the  key  in  the  front  door,  drew  a 
sigh  of  relief  and  went  to  look  after  his  pa 
tient.  He  had  explained  that  she  was  an 
intimate  friend  of  the  deceased,  and  that  she 
was  being  cared  for. 

When  he  reached  the  door  he  was  surprised 
to  see  that  she  still  had  not  stirred.  This 
was  strange,  and  yet  the  truth  did  not  occur 
to  him  until  he  got  quite  near  and  saw  her 
face. 

The  strain  upon  her  tired  nerves  and  heart 
had  been  greater  than  she  could  bear,  and  at 
the  moment  when  the  door  of  heaven  had 
seemed  open  to  her  she  had  been  allowed  to 
enter  in— shouting,  triumphant. 

This  tragic  ending  at  once  simplified  and 
complicated  things  for  Mr.  Stein. 

It  was  an  easy  matter  enough,  a  few  hours 
later,  to  lift  out  the  dummy  figure,  and  to 


90  QUEEN   O'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

lay  in  its  place  her  whose  right  it  was  to  be 
there  ;  and,  to  do  him  justice,  Mr.  Stein  made 
the  change  with  a  sentiment  of  satisfaction 
that  was  closely  akin  to  real  sympathy.  He 
liked  to  deal  fairly  with  his  customers,  and 
it  pleased  him  to  know  that  this  forlorn  one, 
to  whom  it  had  seemed  to  mean  so  much, 
was  at  last  to  get  "  full  walue."  Even  while 
he  mechanically  performed  the  last  sad  offices 
for  her,  he  said  aloud  several  times,  "  Poor 
t'ing !  poor  t'ing  !  " 

Her  tragic  passing  was  a  relief  to  him  only 
in  view  of  her  sudden  turn.  The  ordinary 
hysterical  woman  he  knew  from  much  experi 
ence  ;  but  while  he  had  stood  beside  her  in 
her  last  religious  frenzy,  he  had  heard  Sheba's 
words,  and  they  frightened  him.  Twice  she 
had  declared  herself,  and  only  fire  from 
heaven  had  saved  him  from  exposure.  So 
far  her  taking  off  was  a  relief.  But  at  the 
same  time  it  set  for  him  embarrassing  limita 
tions.  For  one  thing,  it  put  an  embargo 
upon  his  advertisement.  He  dare  not  con 
nect  the.  name  of  his  company  with  so  irregu 
lar  a  burial.  She  would  be  missed,  and  then 
there  might  be  a  search ;  there  could  be  no 
doctor's  certificate  or  license  without  an  in 
vestigation  of  the  circumstances.  The  sample 


QUEEN  0'   SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH  91 

funeral  had  already  been  reported,  and  its 
postponement  needed  no  explanation. 

Sheba's  name  had  not  needed  to  be  men 
tioned  in  the  services,  and  for  simple  prudence 
it  had  been  omitted. 

For  aught  the  Broom  Corn  delegates  knew, 
the  funeral  was  held  in  the  church  with 
which  she  had  connected  herself,  and  was 
being  conducted  at  her  expense— and  they 
must  think  so  still;  they  must  go  home 
thinking  so. 

The  attendance  on  the  first  day  was  more 
than  doubled  on  the  next  j  but,  shame  to  say, 
there  were  exactly  one  third  of  the  promised 
dozen  carriages  in  attendance.  To  do  the 
company  justice,  however,  there  were  all  that 
were  called  for  by  the  policy,  which  Mr.  Stein 
would  have  given  his  hat  to  find,  and  which 
lay  safely  under  Queen  o'  Sheba's  hands, 
where  she  should  hold  it  for  all  time. 

The  only  jar  in  the  morning  funeral 
occurred  when  some  friends  who  had  not 
come  the  day  before  begged  to  see  the  face 
of  the  corpse,  and  Mr.  Stein  was  constrained 
to  decline. 

Her  face  had  changed  so  sadly  during  the 
night  that  they  who  had  seen  it  the  day  be 
fore  would  not  recognize  it,  so  he  said,  and 


92  QUEEN  O'  SHEBA'S  TRIUMPH 

it  would  only  be  too  sorrowful  a  sight— which 
was  true. 

Thus,  after  life's  weary  battle,  did  Queen  o' 
Sheba  achieve  her  full  filial  triumph. 


A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET 


>ISS  MELISSA  ANN  MOORE  was 
a  spinster  who  knitted  green  moss 
mats.  She  had  learned  how  to  make 
these  mats  when  she  was  very  young,  and 
constant  practice  had  kept  her  art  perfect 
through  many  years. 

There  are  two  classes  of  needlework  wo 
men:  there  are  those  who  learn  a  pattern 
to  honor  it  all  their  days— to  whom  it  is  as 
a  creed,  and  who  would  scorn  a  departure  as 
they  would  scorn  a  heresy  in  religion ;  and 
others  there  are  whom  a  design  serves  only 
as  a  hint,  valuable  chiefly  as  a  point  of  de 
parture  into  ways  of  their  own  without  end. 
Even  womanly  women  of  this  latter  type 
have  been  known  to  confess  a  momentary 
grudge  against  a  pair  of  tiny  pink  feet  that 
demanded  two  of  a  kind  from  their  all  too 
adventurous  needles. 

93 


94  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

Miss  Melissa  was  an  orthodox  creature,  and 
not  more  steadfast  was  she  to  the  faith  of 
her  fathers  than  to  the  one  moss  pattern  of 
her  mothers.  She  fully  believed  that  every 
perfectly  constructed  mat  that  emanated  from 
her  faithful  fingers  was  foreordained  to 
be,  from  the  beginning  of  time,  else  it 
would  never  have  been  counted  worthy  to 
materialize. 

There  were  examples  of  Miss  Melissa's  art 
in  nearly  every  home  in  Simpkinsville— ex 
amples  more  or  less  faded  and  worn,  accord 
ing  to  circumstances,  but  all  faithful  witnesses 
of  her  entire  worthiness  to  perpetuate  the 
species.  And,  be  it  said  to  her  credit,  those 
that  she  made  to  sell  were  handled  and  their 
proportions  verified  with  the  same  scrupulous 
care  as  were  such  as  came  into  being  for 
bridal  or  Christmas  presents,  or  to  adorn  the 
marble  base  of  her  own  evening  lamp.  You 
could  measure  the  distance  between  the  little 
moss  clumps  in  the  border  of  any  of  them, 
and  find  each  one  precisely  as  long  as  the  in 
dex-finger  of  Miss  Melissa'  s  left  hand,  mea 
sured  from  the  mole  downward.  She  would 
no  sooner  have  guessed  at  one  of  these  inter 
vals  than  she  would  have  prevaricated  in  a 
statement  of  fact. 


A   NOTE   OF   SCARLET  95 

Miss  Melissa  lived  with  her  married  brother 
Caleb;  and  at  the  birth  of  each  of  his  nine 
children  there  had  been  a  pair  of  "  aunty's 
lovely  moss  mats  "  ready  as  a  welcoming  gift 
to  the  little  stranger,  to  be  laid  out  for  in 
spection  among  the  pink  and  blue  socks  and 
sacks  that  were  sent  in  by  friends  and  rela 
tives,  after  which  they  were  withdrawn  and 
packed  away  in  camphor,  to  be  kept  until 
their  owners  should  marry,  when  they  would 
do  double  duty  as  wedding  presents.  Not 
that  Miss  Melissa  was  parsimonious.  Far 
from  it.  But  she  was  getting  old,  and,  as 
she  expressed  it :  "1 711  be  mos7  likely  passed 
away  long  bef o7  that  time  j  an'  so  I  put  a  en 
velop  o7  good  wishes  an7  advice  in  with  each 
set,  which  it  seems  to  me  '11  be  mighty  im 
pressive,  comin7  from  a  dear  dead  aunt,  same 
as  a  voice  from  the  grave.77 

She  had  even  kept  an  extra  pair  of  mats  on 
hand,  carefully  wrapped  and  perfumed  with 
sachet-powder,  against  the  arrival  of  impend 
ing  twins,— the  same  "runnin7  in  both  fami 
lies,7'— so  that,  to  quote  again  from  her  own 
lips,  "  the  unexpected,  ef  it  should  come,  should 
find  itself  expected  in  one  quarter,  at  least.77 
Indeed,  she  insisted  that,  for  her  part,  she  7d 
see  to  it  that  a  duplicate  baby  should  n7t  fall 


96  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

short  of  its  welcome  just  for  the  sake  of  a  few 
stitches  she  'd  put  into  a  duplicate  pair  of 
lamp-mats,  "  an'  it  jest  as  much  a  blood- 
relation  to  me  as  its  twin,  every  bit  an' 
grain.'7 

She  always  made  her  mats  in  pairs,  be 
cause  they  were  "  intended  to  be  made  in 
pairs";  and  she  set  them,  "as  they  were 
meant  to  be  set,  on  each  end  o'  the  mantel 
shelf,  with  a  lamp  all  ready  to  light  a-standin' 
in  the  center  of  each  one."  It  is  true,  she 
used  one  of  her  own  pair  on  the  small  center- 
table  in  her  bedroom,  but  she  always  con 
sistently  borrowed  it  from  its  station  opposite 
its  mate  and  put  it  carefully  back  next 
morning. 

For  twenty  years  and  more  Miss  Melissa 
had  pursued  her  gentle  art,  and,  as  she  her 
self  was  pleased  to  assert,  she  "  had  n't  never 
turned  a  mat  out  of  her  hand  thet  she  would 
n't  be  more  'n  willin'  to  have  raveled  out  an' 
counted,  an'  ef  she  ever  should  do  sech  a  thing 
as  to  turn  off  one  with  a  false  stitch  in  it,  it 
would  run  in  her  head  same  as  a  tune  out  o' 
tune,  an'  she  'd  look  for  a  lamp  to  sputter 
quick  as  it  was  set  in  it." 

There  seems  to  be  a  serene  pleasure  in  this 
kind  of  orthodox  needlework.  That  there  is 


A  NOTE  OF  SCAELET  97 

joy  in  the  other  sort,  with  its  fitful  depar 
tures  and  sometimes  eccentric  creations,  does 
not  alter  the  matter.  The  even  tenor  of  un- 
questioningly  following  a  lead  is  conducive  to 
length  of  days  and  a  fair  showing  of  good 
works  therein. 

It  is  the  dweller  upon  the  plain  who  has 
seen  a  mountain— either  seen  it  with  his 
mortal  eyes  or  evolved  it  out  of  its  antithesis 
—who  becomes  discontented  and— does  some 
thing.  What  he  does  is— is  it  not?— largely 
a  matter  of  temperament.  He  may  forsake 
the  dead  level  of  his  native  heath  and  go  in 
search  of  his  mountain,  or  he  may  mope 
and  grow  weary,  and  have  nervous  prostra 
tion  or  "  low  sperits,"  according  to  his  social 
position. 

No  one  knows,  excepting  the  doctor,  maybe, 
—and  of  course  we  all  know  that  he  does  n't, 
—what  it  is  precisely  that  induces  the  condi 
tion  so  variously  called,  and  which  exhibits 
itself  first  in  an  ignoble  discontent. 

Why  was  it  that,  after  all  her  years  of  faith 
ful  pursuit  of  it,  Miss  Melissa  one  day  found 
herself  restless  in  the  practice  of  her  art? 
When  she  wound  the  green  zephyr  for  the 
moss  border  around  the  outsides  of  the  parlor 
chairs,  as  she  had  so  often  done,— "settin' 


98  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

each  chair  jest  far  enough  from  the  wall  to  be 
walked  behind,  an'  takin'  in  the  top  grape  on 
the  back  o'  the  haircloth  sofy,"— -why  did  she 
stop  as  many  as  three  times  on  the  third 
round,  and  raise  the  strands  in  her  fingers, 
studying  them  thoughtfully  until  she  finally 
said  aloud:  "'T  ain't  because  it  's  green- 
though  they  do  say  green  is  forsaken ;  an'  of 
co'se  I  know  it  's  exac'ly  the  right  shade,  for 
I  've  matched  it  time  an'  ag'in  by  the  livin' 
moss,  an'  it 's,  ef  anything,  even  more  natural. 
I  'spect  it 's  my  liver  thet  's  torpid." 

She  started  off  again,  though,  and  did  not 
stop  until  she  had  wound  the  required  num 
ber  of  strands.  When  she  had  finished,  how 
ever,  instead  of  cutting  the  zephyr,  she 
hesitated  and  looked  at  it. 

"  I  've  got  half  a  notion  to  wind  on  another 
row  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  've  often  thought 
lately  thet  I  'd  like  to  see  how  that  moss 
would  look  ef  it  seemed  to  grow  a  little 
thicker — or  thinner."  And  even  as  she  spoke 
she  began  her  promenade  around  the  horse 
hair  set;  but  there  was  a  new  look  in  her 
eyes,  and  she  walked  faster  than  on  any  of 
the  earlier  rounds. 

Then  came  the  tying  of  the  strands  pre 
paratory  to  the  cutting.  At  first  she  mea- 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  99 

sured,  as  always,  from  the  mole  j  but  when  she 
had  tied  one  or  two  in  this  way,  she  suddenly 
thrust  her  hands  behind  her  and  exclaimed  : 
"  Lordy,  how  tired  I  am  of  it  all !  I  'm  a-goin' 
to  stop  an7  guess  at  these  spaces— that  7s 
what  I  'm  a-goin'  to  do."  And  guess  at  them 
she  did,  tying  faster  and  faster  as  she  went. 

It  was  her  habit  to  take  her  work  into  the 
dining-room  after  supper,  joining  the  family 
until  they  separated  for  bed;  but  to-night 
she  stole  into  her  own  room,  and  locked  the 
door. 

That  mat  was  never  finished.  Although 
she  worked  far  into  the  night,  and  chuckled 
often  over  the  irregularities  that  were  so 
many  expressions  of  her  spirit  of  revolt,  her 
joy  was  not  full.  The  color  wearied  her.  It 
was  representative  of  a  long  way  that  had 
had  no  turning.  Of  course  she  could  not 
know  this.  She  knew  only  that,  for  some 
occult  reason  which  she  did  not  try  to  under 
stand,  she  would  have  given  her  eyes,  almost, 
if  the  strands  had  been  red—  "  not  none  o**  yo7 
pale  pinky  reds,  neither,  but  jest  a7  all-fired 
red "  j  and  the  more  she  thought  of  it,  the 
more  the  idea  haunted  her— the  more  the 
red  invited  and  the  green  "  tormented  n  her. 

Two  days  afterward  the  center  of  the  mat 


100  A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET 

was  done,  and  half  of  its  irregular  growth  of 
greenery  was  already  in  place,  when,  in  au 
access  of  impatience  that  surprised  herself, 
Miss  Melissa  suddenly  threw  it  into  the  top 
bureau-drawer,  turned  the  key,  and,  seizing 
her  sunbonnet,  started  down  the  street. 
Within  an  hour  a  light  and  bulky  parcel  was 
lying,  still  wrapped,  beside  the  unfinished 
green  mat,  under  lock  and  key ;  and  while  she 
played  with  the  baby  in  the  dining-room,  after 
supper,  her  brother  remarked  that  he  did  n't 
know  when  he  had  seen  Melissa  looking  so 
well  or  so  young. 

She  did  not  wait  for  the  family  to  sepa 
rate,  but,  slipping  away  early  in  the  evening, 
she  escaped  to  her  room,  and  turned  the  key 
in  the  door.  Then  she  lighted  the  lamp  and 
drew  down  the  window-shade  before  she 
drew  forth  the  parcel  of  scarlet  wool  and 
shook  it  out  and  held  it  before  her,  laughing 
aloud.  Her  brother  was  right.  She  did  look 
young  and  pretty  to-night— that  is,  young 
for  forty-one,  and  pretty  for  lier. 

After  admiring  the  hank  of  wool  for  some 
minutes,  she  laid  it  aside,  hastily  undressed, 
took  down  her  hair  and  braided  it  in  two  long 
plaits  for  the  night,  and  put  on  her  flannel 
wrapper  over  her  nightgown.  Then  she 


A  NOTE  OF  SCAELET 


fastened  one  end  of  the  red  zephyr  to  one 
of  her  bedposts,  drew  back  the  rocking-chair 
until  it  stood  in  line  for  attachment,  steadied 
it  by  slipping  a  shoe  under  its  left  rocker, 
passed  over  to  the  sewing-machine,  took  its 
spool  for  her  next  support,  and  so  completed 
a  circuit.  Then  taking  a  bit  of  sweet-gum 
into  her  mouth,  she  fairly  flew  round  and 
round,  until  the  thickness  of  the  strands 
"  seemed  jest  about  right,"  when  she  reck 
lessly  bit  the  zephyr  from  the  ball  with  her 
teeth,  and  sat  down.  The  scissors  lay  within 
reach,  but  it  suited  her  mood  to  ignore  them. 
She  even  said  aloud,  as  she  glanced  at  them  : 
"Lay  still;  I  don't  need  you  this  time"  ; 
but  when  she  had  bitten  the  wool,  she  made 
a  wry  face,  and  added,  "  Reckon  I  better  look 
out  an7  not  bite  that  pivoted  tooth  out." 
But  she  chuckled  as  she  said  it. 

The  making  of  the  red  mat  was  the  mark 
ing  of  a  new  era  for  Miss  Melissa.  The  note 
of  fine  fresh  color  in  her  room,  in  her  fingers, 
on  her  lap,  and  always  in  her  consciousness, 
even  when  locked  from  sight,  in  some  mystic 
way  answered  a  need  of  her  monotonous  life. 
It  appeased,  if  it  did  not  satisfy,  the  weariness 
that  was  expressed  as  color-hunger  of  her 
eyes  j  and  it  is  not  surprising  if  in  the  joy  of 


A  'NOTE  OF  SCARLET 


it  she  felt  a  sort  of  shame,  and  would  not  for 
all  the  world  have  had  any  one  know  about  it. 

She  would  light  both  lamps  at  night  now, 
and  turn  them  up  to  their  full  height,  while 
she  tried  the  effect  of  the  mat  on  the  mantel, 
putting  its  unfinished  half  in  front  under  one 
lamp,  while  she  laid  the  red  zephyr  around 
the  base  of  the  other,  to  get  the  effect  of  the 
balancing  touch  of  red  j  and  although  she  did 
not  know  it,  the  tune  she  hummed  under  her 
breath  was  one  she  had  not  sung  for  years. 
She  never  knew  that  the  red  mat  took  shape 
to  the  air  of  "  Ever  of  Thee  I  'm  Fondly 
Dreaming."  To  be  fair  to  her,  there  really 
was  no  especial  "thee"  in  her  case.  The 
term  was  generic,  and  even  in  this  sense  it 
was  misleading.  Miss  Melissa  had  not  been 
a  woman  of  dreams  or  of  imagination  or  re 
grets,  nor  was  she  in  any  sense  sentimental. 

She  was  acting  under  an  impulse  more  law 
less  than  any  of  her  early  girlhood,  and  while 
she  experimented  with  the  mat  in  various 
situations,  she  finally  tried  the  color  against 
her  face,  laying  the  unfinished  mat  as  a  collar 
on  her  neck.  The  picture  pleased  her,  and 
she  even  pinched  her  cheeks  till  a  faint  color 
showed  in  them.  Seeing  this,  she  blushed  to 
crimson  from  real  shame,  and  hurriedly  turn- 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  103 

ing  out  one  lamp,  she  humbly  removed  the 
mat  from  her  neck  and  went  on  with  her 
work.  But  she  did  not  forget  how  she  had 
looked  to  herself  in  that  one  brief  moment 
when  she  had  blushed  at  her  own  vanity,  and 
she  hummed  another  tune  of  her  young  days, 
one  called  "  The  Rock  Beside  the  Sea,"  which 
had  no  more  or  no  less  application  to  her 
case  than  the  first.  Both  were  simply  bodily 
reminiscent,  and  while  she  was  turning  back 
ward  they  met  her  on  the  way. 

But  on  the  morrow,  when  she  realized  that 
it  was  Sunday,  and  yet  she  took  up  her  mat,— 
she  was  on  the  second  one  now, — her  song  was 
still  another,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  rela 
tion  between  it  and  her  mood  as  she  sang 
gaily : 

I  'm  going,  going,  going,  going ; 
Who  bids,  who  "bids  for  me? 

It  had  never  been  the  kind  of  song  she 
liked,  and  the  girl  who  had  sung  it  at  school 
exhibitions,  twenty-five  years  before,  was  one 
she  had  not  admired.  Yet  here  she  was  sing 
ing  away  at  it,  and  on  Sunday !  She  sang  it 
only  because  it  was  the  most  reckless  song 
she  knew,  and  she  was  misbehaving  as  far  as 
she  could.  And  she  was  having  fun. 


104  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

When  the  family  had  gone  to  church,  her 
voice  raug  out  pretty  loud  several  times,  but 
she  had  no  fear.  Cynthy,  the  black  cook, 
was  shouting,  "  Rock-a  my  soul  on  de  bosom 
o'  Aberham  !  "  in  so  loud  a  voice  that  nothing 
short  of  an  explosion  would  have  attracted 
her  attention.  Miss  Melissa  had  pleaded 
headache  and  remained  from  church ;  or,  to 
be  fair  to  her,  she  had  not  used  the  word 
"  headache,"  but  had  simply  said  that  her 
head  "  did  n't  feel  like  as  ef  she  could  set 
th'ough  a  sermon,"  which  was  true. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day  in  May,  and  the 
sound  of  bees  came  floating  in  at  the  open 
window.  Indeed,  one  yellow-waistcoated  fel 
low  actually  darted  into  the  room,  and 
flaunted  his  Princeton  colors  almost  in  Miss 
Melissa's  face.  Then,  seeing  the  red  zephyr, 
he  buzzed  about  it  several  times,  and,  as 
suddenly  as  he  had  come,  shot  upward  in  a 
shaft  of  sunshine,  and  disappeared. 

Miss  Melissa's  eyes  followed  him,  and  when 
she  knew  that  he  was  gone,  she  suddenly 
realized  all  the  outside  beauty  of  the  spring 
day.  In  imagination  she  saw  the  opening 
dogwood,  and  the  stately  spruce-trees  filled 
to  dripping  with  odorous  sap,  their  thou 
sands  of  fragrant  cones  fairly  bursting  with 


A  NOTE   OF   SCARLET  105 

a  spicy  stickiness.  She  realized  the  winding 
branch  where  the  willows  swung  their  light- 
green  fringes  and  the  clumps  of  wild  plum 
were  in  flower.  It  was  the  plum-blossoms 
that  decided  her.  She  sprang  from  her  chair 
and  got  her  bonnet.  Then  she  wrapped  her 
knitting  carefully  in  a  fresh  handkerchief, 
stuck  it  in  her  pocket,  and  started  out. 

It  was  not  her  fault  that  on  her  way 
through  the  cow-lot  she  saw  the  fishing-rods 
lying  over  the  rafters  in  the  cotton-seed  shed. 
She  had  frankly  set  out  to  follow  any  vagrant 
impulse,— to  do  the  thing  that  seemed  pleas- 
antest,  to  go  where  there  was  beauty  and  un 
restraint,— and  she  had  deliberately  taken  her 
work  with  her— on  Sunday.  She  knew  that 
she  could  not  match  the  finished  mat  at 
home ;  but  if  she  could  have  done  it,  she 
would  not  have  wished  to.  The  mat  that 
was  done  was  "a  ravin',  tearin'  beauty"; 
and  its  mate  would  match  it  in  recklessness, 
which  was  all  she  meant  it  to  do. 

But  one  glance  at  the  fishing-poles  made  the 
mat  seem  tame.  She  knew  as  soon  as  she 
set  eyes  on  them  that  she  was  going  fishing. 
"  No,  Satan ;  you  need  n't  to  get  behind  me 
— not  a  bit  of  it.  You  can  walk  before  me, 
or  beside  me,  or  any  way  you  choose ;  or  you 


106  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

can  skeet  off  about  your  business.  I  'm 
a-goin'  fishin'."  While  she  was  thus  openly 
declaring  herself,  she  had  already  begun 
climbing  over  the  cattle-troughs  to  secure  a 
rod.  When  she  had  got  it  down,  it  occurred 
to  her  that  she  ought  to  leave  some  explana 
tion  of  her  absence,  and  so  she  turned  back, 
crossed  the  yard  to  the  kitchen,  and  called : 
"  Oh,  Aunt  Cynthy !  Tell  'em  all  I  've  went 
out  to  get  a  little  fresh  air  j  an'  whilst  I  'm 
out  I  '11  mos'  likely  go  an'  see  how  ole  Mis' 
Gibbs  is  ;•  an'  ef  I  'm  late  for  dinner,  tell  'em 
not  to  wait." 

In  about  three  minutes,  while  the  fat  old 
woman  was  still  drawling,  "What  is  Miss 
M'lissy  sayin',  anyhow  ? "  the  tip  of  a  long 
bamboo  fishing-pole  was  grazing  the  young 
under  leaves  of  the  sweet-gum  trees  in  the 
lane,  and  a  middle-aged  maiden  was  singing 
in  a  low,  swinging  voice : 

I  'm  going,  going— gone  ! 

And  Aunt  Cynthy,  dropping  a  bay-leaf 
into  her  gumbo-pot,  turned  her  head  and  lis 
tened.  "  What  dat  ? "  she  ejaculated.  "  Three 
times  dis  mornin'  seem  like  I  's  heerd  sperits. 
I  sho  trus'  dey  ain't  come  to  'uounce  no  harm 
to  Miss  M'lissy." 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  107 

And  at  that  moment  this  same  reserved 
and  orderly  person  was  on  her  knees  before 
a  dirty  plank  at  the  cattle-crossing,  lifting 
squirming  earthworms  out  of  their  beds  with 
her  hair-pin,  and  dropping  them  into  a  little 
pocket  she  had  improvised  by  pinning  up  the 
end  of  one  of  her  broad  bonnet-strings  upon 
itself.  And  in  a  surprisingly  short  time  this 
same  pink  bonnet  might  have  been  seen  a 
mile  away,— was  seen  by  the  mocking-birds 
and  squirrels,  that  came  out  frankly  to  in 
quire,— shining  through  the  bush  that 
sparsely  covered  the  jutting  rock  where 
goggle-eyed  perch  were  known  to  congregate. 

As  Miss  Melissa  settled  herself  upon  the 
rock,  she  laughed.  "Reckon  I  ought  n't  to 
expec'  any  luck  to-day,  jest  to  punish  me; 
but  I  do,  jest  the  same.  An'  I  reckon,  ef  I 
was  n't  hardened,  I  'd  have  the  cold  shivers 
puttin'  these  worms  on  the  hook  an'  seein' 
'em  squirm ;  but  I  don't.  Somehow,  squirm- 
in'  is  expected  of  a  worm — one  way  or 
another.  Well,  they 's  one  comfort,  anyhow : 
I  ain't  settin'  anybody  a  bad  example.  Ef 
they  's  one  thing  Simpkinsville  can  keep,  it 's 
Sunday— an'  that  's  why  this  tickles  me  so." 
And  she  chuckled  again  as  she  added,  "  Like 
as  ef  the  fish  knew  any  difference ! " 


108  A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET 

When  she  had  finally  dropped  her  line  into 
the  water,  carefully  baited  from  her  bonnet- 
string,  and  when  she  saw  that  the  fish  were 
not  waiting  to  seize  it,  she  said :  "  B'lieve  I  '11 
take  out  the  mat  an'  knit  a  few  rounds  while 
the  fish  are  getherin' " ;  and  holding  her  rod 
awkwardly  with  her  knees  for  the  moment,  she 
drew  out  the  parcel.  Before  she  was  hand- 
free,  however,  the  cork  sank  quite  out  of 
sight.  There  was  a  scramble,  and  in  a  second 
a  fine  "  goggle-eye  "  flapped  into  her  very  lap, 
dropped  over  her  shoe,  and  fell  with  a  splash 
back  into  the  water. 

For  a  moment  she  felt  as  if  she  would  never 
recover  from  the  panic  that  it  gave  her— this 
actual,  expected  yet  unexpected  contact  with 
the  beautiful,  shimmering,  live  thing.  She 
thrust  her  work  back  into  her  pocket ;  then, 
mounting  the  bank,  she  cut  a  leaf  from  the 
palmetto,  tore  it  into  shreds,  which  she  laid  be 
side  her,  and  set  earnestly  to  fishing.  And  the 
tune  that  she  thought  now— thought  rather 
than  hummed  it— was  "Listen  to  the  Mocking 
bird": 

H-h-h-h-//-h-h ! 

H-h-h-h-/j-h-h ! 
H-h-h-h-h-h-/<-h-h-/<  / 

H-h-h-h-/j-h-h ! 

H-h-h-h-/i-h-h ! 


A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET  109 

So,  without  vocalization,  her  spirit  sang  the 
sprightly  measure,  and  she  knew  not  at  all 
that  it  was  because  the  mocking-bird's  trill 
was  in  her  ears  all  the  time.  Nor,  when  she 
smiled  down  to  the  bank,  had  she  the  least 
idea  that  it  was  because  the  tiny  blue  and 
purple  blossoms  along  its  margin  were  all  in 
broad  grins,  nodding  to  her.  Even  when  she 
tried  to  fit  her  tune  to  the  funny  darting 
movements  of  the  black-satin-backed  bugs 
that  went  through  their  dance-figures  for  her 
on  the  water's  surface,  she  was  consciously 
thinking  only  of  her  line.  She  had  thrown 
open  all  life's  doors  and  windows,  and  was 
letting  in  light  and  color  and  sound ;  and  she 
knew  only  that  she  was  out  on  a  great  lark, 
and  she  was  reckless  as  to  where  it  might 
lead  her.  Of  course  it  was  all  wicked,  and  she 
would  be  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  pretty  soon ; 
but  she  would  not  feel  that  she  was  there  for 
nothing.  She  was  earning  her  penance. 

The  fish  bit  finely,  after  a  little.  Silver  and 
speckled  beauties  followed  one  another  on 
the  cruel  palmetto  strip,  whose  lengthening 
burden  kept  up  a  perceptible  movement  in 
the  water,  even  though  the  string  hung  deep. 
In  through  the  delicate  coral  gills,  and  out  by 
way  of  the  pretty  mouths,  so  she  strung  them. 

There  is  such  a  thing  as  fishing's  being  too 


110  A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET 

good.  It  lacks  the  zest  of  patient  angling. 
So  Miss  Melissa  must  have  found  it  to-day, 
for  she  remarked,  as  she  sent  a  slim  perch 
down  the  fatal  string  to  the  number  thirty- 
one,  u  I  wish  to  goodness  you-all  would  n't 
bite  so  fast,  an'  give  me  a  chance  to  fish." 

Of  course  she  was  fishing  merely  for  sport 
—a  most  cruel  thing  to  do,  even  on  a  week 
day.  To  have  carried  the  fish  home  would 
have  been  a  village  scandal.  Still,  knowing 
this,  she  had  not  the  courage  to  throw  them 
back  into  the  stream.  She  thought  of  it, 
but  only  for  a  moment,  and  her  argument 
against  it  closed  with :  "  An'  maybe  ketch  the 
same  one  over  an'  over  ag'in  ?  No,  not  much. 
Ef  I  say  to  myself,  'I  've  caught  a  dozen 
fish,'  I  '11  know  I  've  cauglit  a  dozen.  But 
I  '11  do  my  best  for  'em.  I  '11  string  'em,  an' 
hang  'em  in  their  native  element;  an'  ef 
they  're  lively,  time  I  git  through  maybe  I  '11 
turn  'em  loose— maybe;  though  I  'd  hate  to 
ketch  the  same  ones  over  ag'in,  even  ef  it  was 
next  week.  Ef  ole  Mis'Gibbs  did  n't  have 
sech  an  inquirin'  mind  for  scandal,  an'  sech 
a  talent  for  distribution,  I  'd  take  'em  up  an' 
fry  'em  for  her— an'  I  'd  eat  my  share,  too." 

And  here  she  stopped  suddenly,  as  if  sur 
prised  by  a  new  thought. 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  111 

"  Would  n't  that  be  perfectly  lovely  ? "  she 
said  slowly,  in  a  moment.  "  But  of  co'se  I 
could  n't  do  it — an'  no  fryin'-pan  here,  nor 
nothiu',  an'  no  match  to  light  a  fire,  even  ef 
the  smoke  could  be  persuaded  not  to  rise." 

Could  it  be  possible  that  Miss  Melissa 
Ann  Moore,  Sunday-school  teacher  and  sec 
retary  of  the  Foreign  Missionary  Society,  was 
contemplating  a  solitary  fish-fry  on  the  holy 
Sabbath?  Perhaps  not. 

She  fished  until  she  was  very  tired,  and 
then,  fighting  her  fatigue  as  a  baby  fights 
sleep,  she  kept  on  from  sheer  inability  to 
stop  until  she  had  used  her  last  bait.  Then, 
hastily  wrapping  her  line,  she  drew  up  the 
fish  and  looked  at  them. 

"Pity  I  could  n't  send  you  over  to  the 
porehouse  for  the  widders,  like  Deacon  Tyler 
does  his  week-day  surpluses,"  she  said,  ad 
dressing  the  fish;  "but  of  co'se  you  're  a 
Sunday  ketch,  an'  noways  fitten  to  nourish  a 
Christian  widder.  Lordy,  but  what  a  sinner 
I  am  to  be  referrin'  so  familiar  to  Deacon 
Tyler,  an'  he  sanctified  these  ten  years  an' 
over  !  Funny  notion  that  was  of  Mis'  Gibbs's 
thet  he  ain't  never  married  because  they  ain't 
no  sanctified  woman  fitten  to  mate  with  him  ! 
She  settles  everybody's  hash,  one  way  or  an- 


112  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

other.  But  I  reckon  she  's  about  right  when 
it  comes  to  him.  Wonder  what  she  says 
about  me  not  bein'  mated,  ez  she  calls  it? 
J'd  as  lief  think  o'  marryin'  that  ole  feller  the 
bishop  told  about  thet  set  his  life  away  on 
top  a  pillar— St.  Simon  What-you-may-call-'im 
—I  forgit  his  surname.  Not  thet  I  don't  rev 
erence  the  deacon— 

Miss  Melissa  had  not  had  the  least  sense 
of  fear,  and  yet,  when  she  presently  heard 
footsteps  behind  her,  she  felt  a  sudden  terror 
lest  she  should  fall  off  the  bank.  She  was 
too  much  frightened  even  to  glance  over  her 
shoulder  when  the  bush  against  her  arm 
trembled ;  but  in  a  moment  her  fear  was  re 
lieved  in  part,  as  she  recognized  the  tall, 
gaunt  figure  that  emerged  from  behind  her 
and  took  a  seat  upon  a  projecting  rock  about 
a  dozen  yards  from  where  she  sat.  It  was 
one  she  had  seen  once  before.  She  instantly 
realized  it  to  be  that  of  a  vagrant  negro,  and 
she  knew  that  he  had  come  for  his  dinner— he 
or  she.  This  very  non-committal  and  elusive 
old  person,  whose  haunts  were  the  cane-brake 
and  the  swamp,  had  been  in  slavery  days  a 
menace  to  the  runaway,  who  feared  his  evil 
eye  and  silent  potency  in  witchcraft— for  he 
was  a  mute ;  and  when  it  was  discovered  that 


A  NOTE   OF   SCARLET  113 

he  frequented  the  brake  he  was  not  molested. 
The  "haunt"  that  the  negroes  were  afraid 
either  to  kill  or  to  confront  was  better  than 
a  pack  of  hounds  to  clear  the  thicket,  and  so 
"Silent  Si/7  responsible  neither  to  law  nor 
order,  had  lived  a  charmed  life,  done  as  he 
pleased,  and  was  reckoned  no  more  than  the 
other  half-shy,  half-bold  inhabitants  of  the 
woodland.  Some  said  he  was  a  voodoo  woman 
who  had  escaped  from  the  Barbour  planta 
tion  seventeen  years  before— a  woman  who 
could  cast  spells  at  long  range,  and  had 
made  so  much  trouble  011  the  bayou  that 
when  she  ran  away  she  was  not  pursued. 
Then  there  were  others  who  felt  sure  he 
was  a  man  who  once  lived  on  Bayou  La- 
fourche,  and  who  had  strange  white  spots  on 
his  body,  and  claimed  that  God  was  grad 
ually  making  him  over  into  a  white  man, 
though  a  few  feared  him  as  a  leper.  And 
there  were  other  stories,  but  none  of  them 
invited  friendship  with  the  uncanny  person 
ality  that  even  yet  chose  the  life  of  a  hermit, 
and  whose  clothes,  rescued  from  the  village 
dumping- ground  and  laundered  in  the  creek, 
were  so  freely  promiscuous  in  their  sugges 
tions  as  to  be  entirely  non-committal. 

When  Miss  Melissa  had  recovered  from  her 


114  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

first  surprise,  she  burst  into  a  hearty,  ringing 
laugh.  "  Well,"  she  exclaimed,  "  ef  they  's 
one  person  on  earth  thet  I  'd  be  willin'  to  see 
me  here,  it 's  you,  Silent  Si." 

For  some  minutes  she  sat  chuckling  to  her 
self  over  what  seemed  a  humorous  situation. 

"  Don't  reckon  he  even  knows  it 's  Sunday 
—or  thet  they  is  any  Sundays,  for  that 
matter.  Don't  seem  like  they  could  be  any 
need  of  religion  in  a  cane-brake,  noways,  with 
no  other  sinners  round.  Most  of  our  needs 
of  grace  is  th'ough  dealin'  with  our  feller- 
man,  looks  to  me  like,  though  I  don't  know. 
I  've  been  doin'  pretty  well  to-day  all  by 
myself. 

"  Lordy,  ef  this  ain't  the  funniest !  Even 
ef  he  knew  me,  he  could  n't  tell. 

"  Well,  they  's  one  thing,  shore  :  I  'm  a-goin' 
to  give  him  my  fish.  Yas,  I  'm  a-goin'  to  give 
him  my  fish,  an'  see  thet  he  has  one  square 
meal,  anyhow.  He  can't  break  a  Sabbath 
that  he  ain't  never  heard  of ;  an'  as  for  me, 
well,  maybe  the  good  Lord  '11  let  the  charity 
of  it  balance  the  Sabbath-breakin'." 

At  this,  she  called  bravely : 

"  Si !     Oh,  Si !  " 

"Oh,  Si!  ".answered  a  distinct  echo  from 
across  the  creek. 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  115 

It  seemed  a  mocking  reminder  of  the 
mute's  deafness,  and  there  was.  some  thing  so 
uncanny  in  it  that,  although  Miss  Melissa 
laughed,  it  was  with  nervous  laughter. 

"Well,  you  cert'n'y  are  deef  in  both  ears, 
old  Si,"  she  chuckled;  "for  ef  you  could  n't 
hear  out  o'  the  one  on  this  side,  the  echo  has 
sampled  the  other  for  me.  This  would  be  a 
good  place  to  fetch  the  deacon  to.  I  would 
n't  feel  so  called  to  quote  Scripture  to  him  ef 
I  could  jest  locate  his  good  ear.  I  know  ef 
he  ketches  one  word  of  a  Scripture  quotation 
he  can  finish  out  the  verse,  an'  I  Ve  more  'n 
once  fell  back  on  the  Bible  for  conversation 
when  a  worldly  remark  was  on  the  tip  o'  my 
tongue.  I  know  it  's  the  right  ear  thet  's 
good,  an'  yet  I  'm  so  used  to  makin'  allow 
ances  for  me  bein'  left-handed  thet  somehow 
T  gen'ally  git  confused  an'  say  things  in  the 
deef  side.  But  out  here  the  echo  would  be 
bound  to  strike  it. 

"I  see  Si  is  spittin'  on  his  bait  for  luck. 
He  's  learned  something  ef  he  is  deef.  Maybe 
he  does  know  it  's  Sunday,  after  all.  I 
reckon  some  folks  would  be  afeard  of  him, 
out  here  by  theirselves,  but  I  ain't.  I  ricol- 
lect  too  well  what  a  mild  face  he  had  the  day 
he  come  out  o'  the  bresh,  that  summer,  when 


110  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

we  was  d'ariii'  off  the  ground  after  our  Sun 
day-school  picnic,  an'  I  give  him  a  lot  o'  the 
scraps.  I  was  n't  a  bit  afeard  of  him  then. 
I  jest  passed  the  things  to  him  on  a  broom 
because  some  folks  said  he  had  the  leprosy. 
Of  co'se  time  has  proved  he  ain't  got  that.  I 
believe  I  '11  unwrap  my  line  an'  fling  it  over 
his,  an'  make  him  take  notice." 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  Attracted  thus, 
the  mute  turned  and  looked  at  her.  With  a 
motion  of  her  hand  she  held  his  attention 
until  she  had  drawn  up  the  string  of  fish, 
and  then  by  a  simple  pantomime  she  offered 
them  to  him.  A  difficult  medium  of  com 
munication  seems  sometimes  to  be  conducive 
to  a  swift  understanding,  for  in  a  surprisingly 
short  time  these  two  people,  who  had  met 
only  once  in  a  twilight  wood  many  years 
before,  had  so  well  understood  each  other 
without  the  aid  of  speech  that  the  mute  was 
building  a  fire  under  a  ledge  of  the  rock  a 
few  feet  away,— a  secret  hiding-place  from 
which  he  soon  brought  forth  a  rude  cooking 
equipment,— and  Miss  Melissa  Ann  Moore 
was  scaling  fish  with  her  own  hands,  using 
for  the  purpose  first  one  and  then  the  other 
blade  of  her  scissors.  She  had  rolled  up  her 
sleeves,  and  pinned  up  her  dress-skirt  to 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  117 

serve  as  apron,  and  while  she  scraped  off  the 
silver  scales  and  trimmed  the  glittering  fins, 
she  hummed  a  tune  into  which  she  was 
presently  fitting  the  words,  "From  Green 
land's  Icy  Mountains." 

Her  song  was  low  at  first,  a  soft,  gur 
gling  treble ;  but  as  she  went  on  it  gradually 
yielded  to  the  inspiration  of  the  wood,  abetted 
by  the  brave  note  of  a  stalwart  bird  that 
poured  out  his  joy  from  a  tree  above  her, 
until  she  was  singing  as  she  had  never  sung 
in  her  life  before. 

It  was  a  fine  duet  for  a  while,  but  soon 
neighboring  birds,  hearing  it,  came  and  sang 
with  the  two  until  the  woods  rang  5  and  no 
one  but  God  heard  the  anthem — God  and 
perhaps  the  squirrels  and  other  voiceless 
creatures  who  came  out  of  hiding  to  peep 
and  to  listen.  Miss  Melissa,  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  was  all  unaware  of  aught  save 
delight.  It  was  as  if  the  long-pent  joy  that 
ought  to  have  expressed  itself  through  years 
of  living  had  suddenly  burst  forth,  demand 
ing  right  of  way,  and  converting  her,  for  the 
time,  into  a  simple  instrument  of  song.  And 
the  birds,  knowing  the  life-notes,  understood, 
and  sang  with  her. 

And  all  the  while  she  mechanically  con- 


118  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

tinued  to  scale  the  fish.  But  so  translated 
was  she  that  when  the  mute  came  and  stood 
beside  her,  she  did  not  see  him  until  a  breeze 
blew  his  skirt  across  the  line  of  her  vision, 
and  she  turned.  When  her  eyes  fell  full 
upon  the  slender  oval  face  of  the  tall  yellow 
"human"  standing  dumbly  beside  her,  she 
stopped  singing  and  withdrew  her  hands.  He 
took  the  motion  for  permission,  and  quickly 
gathered  up  the  fish  and  returned  to  the  fire. 
His  coming  so  near  had  broken  the  spell  and 
brought  her  back  to  earth.  She  watched  him 
in  awed  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  she 
said,  quite  as  if  the  circumstances  were  in  no 
wise  out  of  the  ordinary : 

"Well,  whilst  the  picnic  ?s  progressing 
reckon  I  might  's  well  knit  a  few  rounds  on 
the  red  mat." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  she  took 
out  her  knitting,  and  as  her  needles  flew  she 
soon  fell  into  speculative  discourse  with  her 
self  concerning  her  companion. 

"  I  declare,"  she  began,  "  I  feel  like  as  ef  I 
was  jest  about  half  in  a  dream,  an'  liable  to 
wake  up  any  minute ;  but  I  'd  be  mighty  dis 
appointed  ef  I  was  to  wake  up  before  them 
fish  are  fried  an'  e't.  No,  't  ain't  no  dream ; 
they  say  you  can't  never  dream  smells.  Ef 


A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET  119 

anybody  had  'a'  told  me,  I  would  n't  'a'  be 
lieved  he  'd  be  so  clean  about  it — washed  his 
hands  in  the  branch  even  before  he  built  the 
tire.  An',  come  close-t  to  'em,  her  clo'es  is 
more  faded  'n  they  are  dirty,  anyhow ;  an'  I  'm 
shore  no  hair  could  be  whiter— jest  like 
the  driven  snow — " 

She  had  dropped  her  knitting  in  her  lap 
while  she  watched  the  silent  figure  at  work. 
There  was  something  so  weird  about  it  all 
that  even  Miss  Melissa,  unimaginative  as  she 
was,  felt  the  strange  spell. 

"  What  would  I  give  ef  I  could  git  her  to 
come  an'  set  down  here  by  me  an'  tell  me  the 
story  of  her  life  !  They  can't  be  a  life  with 
out  a  story,  an'  I  reckon  hers  would  be  so 
unnatural  thet  it  would  make  a  good  book. 
No  speech, — no  relations, — no  knowledge  of 
Gord  or  the  devil— jest  herself,  day  in  an'  day 
out. 

"Or  hisself,"  she  added,  seeing  the  mute 
break  a  stick  of  wood  across  his  knee.  "  But 
jest  to  think  of  thinkin'  thoughts  with  no 
words  to  think  'em  in !  I  would  n't  under 
take  it,  I  know.  Thoughtless  words  are  com 
mon  enough,  but  wordless  thoughts— I  can't 
conceive  of  sech  a  thing.  Imagine  me  tryin' 
to  think  in  Hindu  an'  not  knowin'  so  much 

8 


120  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

as  polhj  fronsay  in  it  to  explain  my  thoughts 
to  my  miiid.  I  often  wonder  what  sech  a 
one  will  do  at  the  jedgnient,  when  he  's  re 
quired  to  give  an  account  of  hisself. 

"But  he  must  have  ricollections  of  some- 
thin'  or  somebody.  But  I  ?d  think  even  ricol 
lections  'd  git  to  be  monotonous,  after  a 
while,  for  a  main  dependence.  Somehow,  I 
doubt  ef  he  remembers  anything.  I  reckon 
he  jest  gits  up  every  mornin'  an'  scrimmages 
for  food,  an'  goes  to  bed  at  night  an'  rests 
from  his  scrimmagin'.  Come  to  think  of  it, 
that  's  what  all  the  world  's  a-doin',  more  or 
less. 

"I  s'pose  they  's  any  number  o'  places 
where  he  's  got  fryin'-pans  an'  things  hid,  an' 
little  strips  of  bacon  like  that  he  's  fryin' 
with  now. 

"  Meal  in  a  bottle  with  a  cork  in  it !  Who  'd 
ever  'a'  thought  o'  sech  a  thing !  Well,  it  's 
a  good  way  to  keep  it  dry.  I  s'pose  the 
annual  picnic  leavin's  is  the  same  as  a  Christ 
mas  dinner  to  him.  They  say  it  don't  make 
no  difference  where  they  have  the  picnics,— 
down  at  Silas's  mill,  or  at  the  camp-meetin' 
grove,  or  up  at  Pump  Springs,— he  always 
gits  wind  of  'em  an'  somebody  sees  him  prowl- 
in'  round  for  the  fragments  j  but  from  this 


''SHE   HAD    DROPPED    HER   KNITTING   IN    HER    LAP/' 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  123 

time  on,  I  intend  to  see  thet  he  finds  some- 
thin'  more  'n  broken  victuals.  I  'd  do  that 
much  for  a  dumb  brute  without  a  soul  to 
save.  What  is  he  doin'  now,  for  gracious' 
sakes?  He  's  a-cuttin'  off  a  bunch  o'  that 
palmetter  an'  tyin'  it  to  a  pole.  I  do  wonder 
ef  he  's  a-goin'  to  sweep  the  ground  off  before 
he  sets  the  food  on  it.  He  don't  know  it 's  a 
sin  to  sweep  on  Sunday,  I  don't  reckon.  Ef 
I  did  n't  have  this  mat  to  finish,  I  'd  try  the 
deef-an'-dumb  alphabet  on  him,  an'  spell  out 
the  f o'th  commandment." 

The  mute  had,  indeed,  fashioned  a  rude 
broom  from  the  materials  at  hand,  and  before 
Miss  Melissa  could  anticipate  his  intention, 
he  had  taken  a  beautiful  leaf  of  the  green 
palmetto,  laid  it  on  the  improvised  broom, 
placed  the  fish  and  a  corn-dodger  upon  it, 
and,  standing  at  arm's-length,  was  presenting 
it  to  her. 

It  meant  recognition. 

So  she  had  served  him  years  ago  in  the 
twilight  wood.  She  was  much  startled  for 
the  moment,  but  a  swift  glance  at  his  pathetic 
face  touched  her  almost  to  tears.  As  she 
looked  into  his  eyes  a  flicker  of  servile  plea 
sure  illumined  them— a  flicker  that  she  felt 
rather  than  saw,  like  the  blink  of  a  summer 


124  A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET 

sky  when  one  says,  "Was  that  lightning?" 
and  cannot  be  quite  sure  whether  it  was  until 
it  comes  again. 

When  she  took  the  fish  she  was  so  agitated 
that  she  said,  "  Thank  you,  Si,"  quite  aloud ; 
but  the  words  fell  upon  his  back,  for  he  had 
not  lingered. 

For  some  minutes  Miss  Melissa  sat  and 
looked  at  the  feast— it  seemed  a  feast,  for  the 
hour  was  late,  and  she  was  hungry— before 
she  could  recover  herself  enough  to  touch  it. 
But  finally  she  drew  the  palmetto  up  on  her 
knee,  and  began  her  novel  meal,  which  she 
ate  as  uuquestioningly  as  a  child.  She  had 
been  all  her  life  accustomed  to  the  negro's 
hand  as  a  server  of  food— the  negro,  taken 
many  times  without  question  from  field  or 
forest  work ;  and  when  once  this  sort  of  ser 
vice  is  accepted,  and  one  learns  the  usual 
cleanliness  of  the  shapely  hands  of  the  most 
uncouth  among  them,  he  has  arrived  at  a  com 
fort  point  which  does  not  always  exist  in 
more  pretentious  serving.  The  old  "aunty" 
who  shucks  her  roasting-ears  all  over  her 
kitchen  floor,  and  spreads  her  baby's  pallet 
on  the  pile  of  bark  in  the  corner,  will  make 
biscuits  as  white  as  snow,  and  her  pine  table 
will  show  its  pretty  grain  even  down  its 


A  NOTE  OF   SCAELET  125 

scoured  legs.  The  floor  is  hers,  but  her 
hands  and  the  table  where  she  prepares  his 
feasts  are  consecrate  to  her  master's  service. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  Miss  Melissa 
thought  of  looking  after  the  mute,  and  when 
she  did  look  he  was  gone.  There  was  not 
even  so  much  as  a  trace  of  the  fire  he  had 
built  upon  the  ground.  Indeed,  she  would 
not  have  known  where  it  had  been  but  for 
the  pile  of  brush  he  had  drawn  over  the 
spot. 

She  stopped  eating,  and  looked  about  her. 

"Well,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  don't  doubt  a 
minute  but  what  I  'm  hoodooed,  an'  none  o' 
the  things  I  seem  to  see  are  really  happenin'. 

"  Of  co'se  here  's  the  fish,  an'  my  red  mat ; 
an'  there  's  my  fishin'-pole,  layin'  where  I 
throwed  it  over  the  buckeye-bushes.  That 
much  is  real.  But  that  gray  squir'l  climbin' 
down  the  tree-limb,  there,  looks  like  as  ef  it 
might  easy  be  in  a  dream  an'  suddenly  dis 
solve.  I  do  declare,  I  feel  almost  like  as  ef  I 
was  in  the  Garden  of  Eden.  Ef  I  was  to  see 
a  snake  anywhere,  I  'd  fully  expect  it  to  en 
large  an'  come  forward  an'  try  to  tempt  me. 
I  wonder  what  time  o'  day  it  is,  anyhow? 
I  see  the  shadders  is  all  reversed,  an'— 

"Why,  it 's  gittin'  dark  !  " 


126  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  looked  about  her 
and  shuddered. 

"  Deary,  deary  me !  n  she  said,  "  how  far 
wrong  one  bad  act  will  take  a  person  !  Only 
three  days  ago  I  stopped  counting  my  strands 
—an'  now  what  an  awful  sinner  I  ain  !  Will 
I  ever  have  forgiveness  an'  peace  of  mind 
again,  I  wonder? 

"What  would  the  deacon  say— or  even 
Gord?  Somehow,  I  don't  mind  the  Lord 
knowin'  it  ez  much  as  I  would  the  deacon. 
He  's  so  sanctified.  An'  of  co'se  Gord  knows 
all  the  ins  and  outs  of  it,  how  werried  I 
was,  an'  he  's  authorized  to  blot  out.  Maybe 
this  is  the  real  me,  after  all,  an'  I  have  n't 
been  no  more  'n  a  hypocrite  all  these  years. 

"No,"  she  added,  looking  upward,  "'t  ain't 
that.  Whatever  it  is,  I  ain't  a  hypocrite,  I 
know.  Some  say  Gord  judges  us  by  our  best 
days,  an'  some  say  he  holds  us  for  our  worst. 
An'  then,  ag'in,  some  say  he  averages.  May 
be  ef  he  '11  average  up  these  last  three  days 
with  my  forty-one  years  of  tryin'  to  live 
righteously,  it  '11  seem  like  as  ef  I  've  been 
passable  good  right  along. 

"  But  I  must  be  goin'." 


II 


THERE  were  bedtime  twitterings  in  the  brush 
on  every  side  now,  and  the  shaft  of  sunlight 
that  had  a  moment  before  revealed  the  glories 
of  the  greenery  all  about  her  passed  out  even 
while  she  looked,  and  Miss  Melissa  realized  her 
isolation  in  a  momentary  sense  of  fear.  But 
this  wood,  and  the  banks  of  the  stream  that 
wound  in  and  out  of  it  for  miles,  had  been  the 
familiar  playground  of  her  childhood.  She  re 
membered  it  when  there  were  tales  of  bears 
and  wildcats  there,  and  she  knew  where  several 
Indian  graves  were,  within  a  stone's-throw  of 
where  she  sat— graves  that  were  witnesses  to 
some  stirring  times  in  which  her  grandfather 
had  taken  part.  It  would  be  hard  for  her  to 
be  really  afraid  here,  even  in  the  dense  copse 
where  she  had  hidden.  In  a  moment  she  was 
smiling  at  the  idea,  and  to  make  sure  of  her 
self  she  went  back  to  the  jutting  ledge,  and 
deliberately  threw  the  fragments  of  her  dinner 
into  the  water,  so  as  to  leave  no  vestige  of  the 
occasion. 

She  dropped  them  in  slowly,  one  at  a  time, 
and  watched  them  while  they  floated  a  min 
ute,  or  sank  as  they  fell ;  and  her  calm  exterior 

127 


128  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

gave  no  hint  of  a  new  panic  that  had  begun 
to  rage  within  her.  She  had  felt  it  for  a  mo 
ment  when  the  mute  first  disappeared,  and 
while  she  stood  alone  in  the  darkening  wood 
it  came  again.  It  wras  the  inevitable  home- 
going  that  confronted  her.  She  had  always 
been  truth  itself,  and  she  would  have  to  give 
an  account  of  this  broken  Sabbath— probably 
within  an  hour.  She  felt  sure  that  her  brother 
was  already  inquiring  for  her  and  watehing 
the  gate,  and  that  her  nervous  sister-in-law 
was  declaring  herself  "  certain  an'  sure  some- 
thin'  awful  had  happened  " ;  and  in  all  prob 
ability  Sally  Tolbert,  and  Mis'  Allen,  and 
maybe  the  Tompkins  children,  had  been  over 
during  the  afternoon  to  see  how  she  was,  hav 
ing  missed  her  at  church.  Possibly  even 
Deacon  Tyler  had  dropped  in,  with  his  ear- 
trumpet,  so  as  not  to  miss  any  detail  of  an 
illness  that  had  been  serious  enough  to  keep 
her  from  service.  He  always  went  to  inquire 
for  the  sick.  In  imagination  she  could  hear 
her  sister-in-law  screaming  into  the  trumpet 
that  "  the  last  seen  of  Sis'  M'liss'  was  thus  or 
so.  Cynthy  had  watched  her  go  through  the 
gate,  and  had  heard  her  say  something  about 
old  Mrs.  Gibbs,  she  thought." 

This   last   reflection   was  suggestive  and 


A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET  129 

helpful.  She  had  intended  to  go  and  see  how 
old  Mrs.  Gibbs  was,  and  she  would  go  now, 
late  as  it  was.  That  old  lady  had  cataracts  on 
her  eyes,  so  the  doctors  said,  and  she  was  im 
patiently  awaiting  the  period  of  full  blindness, 
that  darkest  hour  before  the  dawn  when  the 
wrorld  might  be  hers  again. 

Miss  Melissa  would  go  now,  and  offer  to 
take  her  to  evening  service ;  and  her  family, 
seeing  her  there,  might  assume  that  she  had 
been  with  Mrs.  Gibbs  all  day,  and  not  ask  any 
questions.  Mrs.  Gibbs  would  not  see  that  she 
was  not  dressed  for  church. 

How  stupidly  a  sane  person  can  plan  when 
his  thoughts  are  fixed  on  a  single  point !  The 
whole  congregation  would  have  had  to  have 
cataracts  on  their  eyes  to  make  it  possible  for 
one  to  appear  in  church  in  a  gingham  frock 
and  pink  sunbonnet  without  creating  a  sensa 
tion.  But  she  would  go  and  see  Mrs.  Gibbs, 
anyway.  It  would  be  a  safe  way-station  in 
the  direction  of  a  return,  and  perhaps  while 
there  something  would  be  suggested.  Of 
course  she  could  not  take  her  fishing-rod  with 
her,  but  she  could  hide  it  in  the  brush. 

THERE  was  no  light  in  the  Gibbs  cottage  when 
she  arrived,  wirich  was  a  good  omen.  Mrs. 


130  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

Gibbs  lighted  up  only  for  company,  and  she 
would  find  her  alone— as  she  did. 

Delighted  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  the 
voluble  old  lady  greeted  her  with  a  charac 
teristic  welcome. 

"  Why,  howdy,  Melissy  Ann  !  Howdy  !  I  'm 
proud  to  see  you.  An'  I  'm  glad  to  see  you 
ain't  expectin'  to  go  to  church,  for  I  don't  feel 
a  bit  worshipful  this  evenin'.  Ef  I  'd  heard 
a  swish  when  you  come  in,  I  'd  know  it  was 
my  duty  to  go  with  you.  Speak  o'  the  devil 
—I  was  jest  a-thinkin'  jest  now  how  long 
that  bayadere  silk  o'  yores  had  lasted.  I 
ricollec'  you  bought  it  off1  n  yo'  second  inat- 
raffle,  time  the  circus  tent  blowed  away.  Well, 
I  'm  glad  you  're  better.  How  's  yo'  sis'-in- 
law  ?  Got  over  her  faint  yet  ?  Or  was  it  the 
child  thet  fainted  ?  Some  said  it  was  her,  an' 
some  itr 

This  was  an  unpromising  beginning.  It 
seemed  at  the  onset  that  she  would  be  obliged 
to  confess  that  she  had  not  been  at  home  all 
day.  She  would  not  be  rash  about  it,  though. 
If  her  sister-in-law  had  fainted  in  church,  ap 
parently  that  was  all  Mrs.  Gibbs  knew  about 
it,  and  she  could  gain  nothing  by  asking  ques 
tions,  so  she  said  tentatively : 

"  Sis'  Salina  's  subjec'  to  them  dizzy  spells 


A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET  131 

sence  she  's  stoutened  up  so  j  an'  the  doctor 
says  it  behooves  her  to  take  keer  of  herself, 
an'  to  take  boneset  an'— 

"An'  camomile  an'  bitter  aloways,  to  alle 
viate  the  boneset,"  Mrs.  Gibbs  interpolated. 
"  Yas  j  you  can  tell  her  for  me  thet  I  say  thet 
when  I  stoutened  befo'  I  fell  away  the  last 
time,  that  was  what  brought  me  through. 

"  But  some  folks  thought  maybe  it  was  jest 
fright,  this  mornin',  thet  ailed  her.  It  's 
enough  to  scare  anybody  to  have  a  cow  rush 
into  a  pew  du'in'  services,  an'  to  upset  a 
whole  row  o'  child'en,  the  way  that  cow  did 
hers.  I  've  always  thought  it  was  resky  an' 
irreligious— allo win'  a  cow  to  graze  in  the 
churchyard,  the  way  they  do,  whilst  the  gos 
pel  is  bein'  preached.  But  of  co'se  nobody 
could  'a'  foresaw  her  takin'  a  notion  to  attend 
services.  They  say  Mis'  Blanks  is  goin'  to 
have  it  out  with  Jim  Towers,— you  know, 
it  was  his  cow,— an'  she  says  ef  he  don't  pay 
for  her  bonnet  she  '11  see  the  reason  why. 
Was  n't  it  funny  for  her  to  chew  up  the  most 
expensive  thing  in  church,  which  everybody 
knows  Mis'  Blanks's  bonnets  is  — milliner- 
trimmed  fresh  every  season  ?  I  ain't  missed 
my  eyesight  so  sence  it  went— never.  I  s'pose 
the  cow  nachelly  knew  straw  when  she  saw  it, 


132  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

an'  she  had  n't  no  respec'  for  a  leghorn  braid. 
Lncky  thing  Mis'  Blanks  always  unties  her 
bonnet-strings  to  sing,  else  she  'd  'a'  been 
strangled,  shore.  They  say  the  cow  mooed 
right  into  Deacon  Tyler's  ear-trumpet,  an'  rose 
him  straight  out  of  'is  pew.  You  know,  when 
he  sets  his  trumpet  for  the  sermon  he  always 
shets  his  eyes ;  an'  the  first  thing  he  heard  was 
*  Moo  ! '  Of  co'se  I  knew  I  was  safe,  in  the 
amen  corner,  'cause  no  Durham  could  get  over 
the  railin',  'less  she  was  hard  pressed.  I 
missed  the  sight  of  it  all,  but  my  hearin'  's 
better  'n  ever,  an'  to  my  dyin'  day  I  '11  never 
forgit  the  words  Brother  Clayton  said,  an' 
how  the  cow  changed  things  around.  lie 
was  jest  repeatin'  his  tex'  for  his  fo'th  head, 
an'  he  says,  says  he :  *  "  An'  Nathan  said  unto 
David," — so,  Sitkey,  so ! '  Lordy  !  but  you 
missed  a  church  circus  this  morniu',  honey, 
Melissy,  shore. 

"  But  I  'm  right  glad  to  hear  thet  yo'  sister. 
in-law  ain't  noways  serious.  Did  she  expect 
her  brother  Ben  to  come  to-day,  or  was  it  a 
complete  surprise  ?  'Mandy  Jones  says  he  's 
fetched  a  trunkful  o'  presents,  but  his  sister 
would  n't  let  him  open  it  on  the  Sabbath. 
Mis'  Jones  sent  'Mandy  down  the  road  to  see 
ef  they  was  crape  on  the  gate,  not  knowin' 


A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET  133 

what  a  cow-horn  might  result  in ;  an'  'Mandy 
she  see  the  carriage  at  the  door,  an'  she  went 
to  see  ef  it  was  the  undertaker,  it  bein'  a 
strange  carriage,  an'  that 's  how  it  come  out 
thet  it  was  her  brother  Ben  come  back. 
'Mandy  did  n't  go  in,  but  she  counted  eight 
child'en  playin'  on  the  po'ch,  an'  she  see  Ca 
leb's  wife  rockin'  the  cradle  with  her  foot, 
which  proved  it  was  n't  empty ;  so  she  knew 
they  was  all  alive,  an'  she  come  away. 

"But  I  don't  see  how  you-all  stand  not 
knowin'  what  he  'd  fetched  you  till  to-morrer 
morniii'.  Caleb's  wife  is  shorely  a  godly 
woman— by  intention.  My  judgment  would 
7a'  been  to  open  that  trunk  an'  have  a  rapid 
distribution.  She  could  'a'  had  it  opened  with 
prayer,  ef  she  'd  'a'  seen  fit ;  an'  then,  when  the 
things  was  all  give  out,  they  could  'a'  been  put 
away  'tel  to-morrer,  all  excep'  Bibles  an'  sech. 
Even  a  frivolous  present,  received  an'  put  out 
o'  sight,  is  less  distractin',  in  my  opinion,  than 
a  doubtful  box  with  a  Bible  in  it.  They  say 
he  claimed  thet  none  of  his  presents  was  n't 
wicked,  nohow,  'cep'n'  the  pack  o'  playin'- 
cards  that  he  brought  for  the  preacher,  which 
I  'm  glad  to  see  Ben  ain't  lost  none  of  his 
devilment  in  his  travels.  But  she  would  n't 
hear  to  techin'  tf  ^  trunk.  She  's  got  the 


134  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

courage  of  her  convictions,  shore.  I  never 
will  forgit  how  she  apologized  for  one  of  her 
babies  bein'  born  on  a  Sunday,  or  how  relieved 
she  seemed  when  one  o'  the  attendin'  ladies 
reminded  her  thet  all  its  birthdays  would  n't 
of  necessity  f oiler  on  the  Sabbaths. 

"  But  you  ain't  told  me  yet  whether  you-all 
was  lookin'  for  him  or  not,  or — 

Before  she  could  answer,  Miss  Melissa  was 
startled  by  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Gibbs 
asked  her  to  light  the  lamp.  Until  now,  the 
two  women  had  been  sitting  in  the  dark. 

The  light  revealed  a  funnel-shaped  instru 
ment  thrust  through  a  crack  in  the  door,  and 
Miss  Melissa  knew  that  the  deacon  had  come, 
and  that  almost  certainly  he  was  looking  for 
her.  She  knew  he  had  presented  his  trumpet 
for  an  invitation  to  enter,  and  so  she  obedi 
ently  screamed,  with  nervous  aim— just  out 
side  the  funnel :  "  Howdy,  deacon  !  Come  in." 
He  caught  part  of  the  greeting,  however,  and 
while  she  went  on  to  say  that  she  was  just 
thinking  it  was  time  to  go,  he  came  in,  shook 
hands  with  the  two  women,  and  sat  down 
between  them. 

"  Has  he  got  his  trumpet  with  him  ? "  asked 
the  brave  hostess,  realizing  his  deafness;  but 
Miss  Melissa  did  not  hear  her,  either.  She 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  135 

felt  that  she  must  get  the  deacon  away,  if 
possible,  before  there  were  any  revelations, 
and  she  was  devoting  herself  to  him.  While 
Mrs.  Gibbs  was  thinking,  "Wonder  ef  they 
could  be  anything  in  him  comin'  here  after 
her,"  that  lady  was  screaming,  in  reply  to  his 
solicitous  inquiry : 

"  Oh,  yas,  sir,  thank  you ;  it 's  a  heap  better. 
The  open  air— an'  then,  talkin'  here  to  Mis' 
Gibbs.  'T  was  n't  exactly  to  say  a  headache, 
nohow.  I  reckon  I  ought  to  've  went  to 
church,  by  rights." 

"Well,"  said  the  deacon,  slowly,  "I  can't 
jedge  for  nobody  else,  of  co'se,  but  I  'd  resk  a 
good  deal  on  yo'  doin'  the  right  thing.  For 
myself,  I  know  it  takes  all  the  church-goin' 
I  'm  capable  of  to  keep  me  within  a  stone's- 
throw  of  the  straight  an'  narrer  way.  Of 
co'se  I  have  n't  heard  a  sermon  in  ten  year ; 
but  I  go,  an'  set  my  trumpet  <fo'rec'  for  the 
W^ord  of  God,  an'  that  seems  to  be  all  thet 
could  be  expected  of  me.  Some  has  insinu 
ated  thet  I  ought  to  keep  my  eyes  open,  an' 
from  my  experience  this  mornin',  I  s'pose 
likely  I  ought.  But,  exceptin'  for  self-preser 
vation,  I  can't  see  no  obligation  to  do  it.  Ef 
Brother  Clayton  would  shave,  I  'd  obligate 
myself  to  keep  awake  an'  watch  his  lips  j  but 


136  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

they  ain't  no  inspiration  in  the  motion  of 
chin-whiskers,  not  even  ef  they  are  dilatin' 
on  the  gospel— not  to  me.  But  of  co'se  I 
know  I  ain't  as  good  a  Christian  as  what  I 
ought  to  be,  noways.  I  don't  begin  to  b'lieve 
the  way  1 've  been  taught,  an'  I  ain't  got  the 
faith  on  all  p'ints  thet  folks  think  I  have, 
neither.  F'  instance,  that  doctrine  of  i  What 
is  to  be  will  be,'  I  don't  begin  to  b'lieve  it.  I 
don't  b'lieve  for  a  minute,  f  instance,  thet 
that  fool  cow  was  fo'ordained  to  moo  into  my 
trumpet  this  mornin',  an'  rouse  me  out  of  a 
dream  o'  the  golden  streets— which  she  done." 

He  looked  at  Miss  Melissa  and  waited  for  a 
reply. 

"Well,  I  did  n't  see  the  cow— or  hear  her," 
she  began  irrelevantly.  "Of  co'se  He  who 
created  the  cow,  an'  created  you,  He  must  have 
known— 

"Never  mind  the  trumpet,  Miss  Melissy," 
he  interrupted,  smiling;  "you  're  on  my  good 
side.  Come  jest  a  leetle  close-ter,  please, 
ma'am,  an'  talk  slow ;  an'  hand  this  to  Mis' 
Gibbs,  so  's  she  can  express  an  opinion  to  my 
deef  side  ef  she  's  so  disposed." 

He  handed  Miss  Melissa  the  ear-trumpet, 
and  she  passed  it  over  to  Mrs.  Gibbs. 

"Well,  I  b'lieve  events  can  be  helped,  or 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  137 

hindered,"  the  brave  hostess  shouted  into  the 
funnel,  glad  of  a  chance  to  speak.  "Ef  I 
did  n't  b'lieve  that  I  would  n't  have  no  cour 
age  to  anoint  my  cataracts." 

"An'  I  think  thet  nobody  can  go  far 
wrong,"  added  Miss  Melissa,  "  ef  he  jest  fol- 
lers  the  Scriptures.  I  know  a  man  down 
here  at  Spring  Hill,  he  started  readin'  doubt- 
in'  books,  an'  first  thing  his  folks  knew,  he 
was  disputin'  perpetual  hell  an'  the  fire  thet 's 
never  squenched;  an'  several  of  his  smarty 
friends,  thinkin'  it  was  becomin',  they  started 
to  show  off  in  the  same  way.  One  well-raised 
young  man  thet 's  got  two  elders  an'  a  class- 
leader  in  his  family,  an'  is  sfcudyin'  medicine 
hisself,  why,  he  up  an'  said  he  doubted  the 
story  of  Jonah  an'  the  whale,  jest  on  physical 
grounds— 

"  I  should  'a'  thought  he  would  7a'  been  sort 
o'  physicked  with  him,  shore  enough,"  shrieked 
Mrs.  Gibbs;  "Jonah,  I  mean— no,  the  whale" 

"An'  so  he  was— an'  physicked  effectual. 
We  've  got  Scripture  for  that.  To  me,  the 
mericle  ain't  that.  It  's  the  two  of  'em  sur- 
vivin' ;  that 's  what  gits  me.  Maybe  I  ought 
n't  to  say  it,  an'  I  would  n't  ef  any  of  our 
young  folks  was  around  j  but  sometimes  I  've 
thought  thet  maybe  the  whole  thing  was  n't 


138  A  NOTE  OF  SCAKLET 

never  intended  for  no  more  'n  a  yarn.  Them 
apostles  must  've  got  off  fakes  occasional,  jest 
to  relieve  the  monotony,  an'  I  don'  b'lieve  for 
a  minute  thet  my  eternal  salvation  has  got  to 
hinge  on  me  a-swalleriu'  no  fish-story  over  a 
thousand  years  old.  Even  the  fresh  ones  we 
git  is  li'ble  to  suspicion— 't  least,  some  of  'em 
is.  I  know  I  've  been  tempted  myself,  an'  me 
a  deacon  in  the  church.  A  inch  in  a  fish's 
tail,  or  a  ounce  or  so  of  weight,  or  the  narrer- 
ness  of  a  person's  escape  from  drowndin', 
well,  they  seem  sech  harmless  exaggerations, 
an'  they  give  a  man  standin'  in  a  community 
where  things  is  pretty  slow.  But  of  co'se  I 
ain't  never  done  it.  I  Ve  stood  by  my  little 
fish  all  my  life,  an'  I  've  had  the  durnedest 
luck,  too,  for  a  patient  fisher.  But  of  co'se 
you  ladies  ain't  never  tempted  that-a-way." 
He  looked  at  Miss  Melissa.  "  You  ain't  never 
fished  all  day,  I  'm  shore,  an'  been  tempted  a 
thousand  ways  to  diverge.  Ef  you  was  to  go 
fishin',  Miss  Melissy,  no  doubt  you  'd  be  as 
conscientious  about  yo'  ketch  as  you  are  in 
knittiii'  them  green  mats." 

Fortunately,  he  did  not  glance  at  Miss 
Melissa  now,  for  her  face  was  scarlet.  She 
felt  sure  she  had  been  discovered ;  and  if  she 
had  broken  all  the  commandments  in  one  foil 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  139 

impulse,  she  could  not  have  been  more  hope 
lessly  criminal  in  her  own  consciousness. 

"  I  've  often  thought/'  the  deacon  continued, 
eying  her  mischievously  the  while,  "that  ef 
you  would  make  jest  one  crooked  mat,  or  turn 
out  jest  one  of  a  false  color,— say  a  red  one, 
—  why,  the  devil  might  have  some  hope  of 
you ;  but  so  long  as  you  set  sech  a  example  of 
consistency  as  you  do,  why,  ef  you  have  even 
so  much  as  a  sick-headache,  an'  stroll  away 
for  relief,  we  know  the  place  to  hunt  you  is 
the  bedside  of  the  sick,  an',  shore  enough, 
here  you  are.  Well,  I  mus'  be  goin',"  he 
added,  looking  at  his  watch.  "Ef  you  '11 
accept  of  my  company,  I  '11  escort  you  home. 
I  would  n't  advise  you  to  pass  by  the  wilier 
hedge  alone  for  a  few  nights,  for  they  do  say 
Silent  Si  has  been  seen  prowlin'  round  for  a 
week  or  so,  an'  you  might  run  ag'in'  him— him 
or  his  haunt.  Some  say  th'  ain't  nothin'  but 
his  sperit  been  seen  for  three  years— not  thet 
you  'd  be  afeard  of  him,  exactly,  either  in  the 
flesh  or  out" 

If  Miss  Melissa  had  had  a  hope  that  the 
deacon  knew  nothing  of  her  escapade,  it  was 
gone  now ;  and  when  she  rose  to  go,  she  said 
"  Good  mornin' "  to  her  hostess,  and  in  reply 
to  an  invitation  to  come  again  soon,  she  stain- 


140  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

mercd,  "  Not  at  all " ;  and  when  she  was  out 
side,  and  the  deacon  offered  her  his  arm,  she 
actually  sobbed  aloud.  Fortunately,  though, 
it  was  in  his  deaf  ear;  and  before  she  had 
further  committed  herself,  he  had  passed  her 
the  trumpet,  saying :  "  I  can't  offer  you  my 
good  ear,  lest  you  'd  be  for  sale  on  the  outside 
the  walk,  so  you  '11  haf  to  do  yo'  laughin'  an' 
talkin'  in  this.  What  was  you  laughin'  at, 
anyhow  ?  A  deef  man  can  feel  a  chuckle  he 
can't  hear." 

This  was  so  funny  that  she  really  laughed, 
now,  straight  into  the  funnel.  She  laughed 
so  loud  and  so  long,  and  with  such  a  growing 
sense  of  humor,  that  the  deacon  laughed  with 
her  from  sheer  contagion.  When  life's  ten 
sion  has  been  long  and  rigorous,  and  over 
strained  nerves  recoil,  it  is  hard  to  recover 
control  sometimes.  Since  Miss  Melissa's 
weeping  had  been  translated  into  mirth  it 
quite  ran  away  with  her,  and  it  would  have 
alarmed  the  deacon  had  he  heard  it  all.  But 
the  snatches  of  it  that  fell  into  his  trumpet 
were  only  sufficient  to  impart  a  sense  of  joy- 
ousness,  and  he  said  cheerily : 

"Yo'  feelin'  so  happy  to-night  is  as  good 
as  a  sermon  to  me.  Notwithstanding  you 
have  n't  had  the  inspiration  of  divine  service 


A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET  141 

to-day,  you  've  found  the  reward  of  doin'  the 
Lord's  work.  You  've  found  it  in  a  merry 
heart." 

The  deacon's  voice  was  too  gentle  for  irony. 
Surely,  after  all,  he  could  not  know. 

To  feel  like  a  criminal  was  bad  enough,  but 
it  did  not  approach  the  hopelessness  of  being 
found  out.  Miss  Melissa  cleared  her  throat, 
and  looked  up  a  little.  So  long  as  only  she 
and  God  and  the  speechless  old  negro  knew, 
she  could  hope  to  enter  her  closet  and  have  it 
out  in  confession  and  prayer.  She  had  antici 
pated  the  sackcloth,  and  was  willing  to  endure 
the  sting  of  it;  but  to  be  whipped  in  the 
market-place,  figuratively  if  not  with  bodily 
stripes,  was  more  than  she  could  brook.  If 
the  deacon  knew  all,  and  would  tell,  this 
would  be  her  fate.  But  he  did  not  know. 
His  stumbling  over  the  live  wires  that  con 
nected  with  her  conscience  was  only  an  acci 
dent  ;  but  she  was  so  sensitive.  It  was  easy 
to  turn  the  scales  either  way  by  a  feather's 
weight.  What  could  have  been  more  inno 
cent  than  the  good  man's  next  remark  ?  And 
yet  how  easily  she  misunderstood  it,  and  what 
despair  it  wrought  within  her !  Witness  his 
artless  offense : 

"Many   another,   in    sech    circumstances, 


142  A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET 

bavin'  a  headache  for  a  good  excuse,  instead 
of  doin'  the  Lord's  work  as  you  've  done  to 
day,  would  'a7  found  some  fish  of  their  own 
to  "fry." 

How  simple  and  natural  the  tribute  to  her 
supposed  faithfulness,  but  how  subtle  and 
poignant  the  sting  upon  her  guilty  conscious 
ness  !  It  was  more  than  she  could  bear. 

"  Hursh  !  "  she  screamed,  clapping  the  fun 
nel  quite  over  her  lips.  "  Hursh,  deacon  ! 
Not  another  word !  I  can't  stand  it.  Ef 
you  've  got  the  feelin'  for  me  thet  you  'd 
have  for  a  yaller  dog  thet  was  bein'  pursued, 
you  11  hursh  !  " 

"Well,  upon  my  word,  you  're  purty  brash, 
Melissy."  It  was  her  brother  Caleb  who 
stepped  up  from  behind  them,  and  he  had 
heard  his  sister's  last  words. 

"Don't  mind  her,  Caleb,"  the  deacon  said 
mildly ;  "  she 's  jest  showin'  her  Christian  hu 
mility.  Whenever  I  refer  to  her  good  works 
it  seems  to  pleg  her,  but  I  did  n't  have  no  idee 
of  taxin'  her  forbearance  so  severe.  I  found 
her  settin'  in  darkness,  ministerin'  to  ole  Mis' 
Gibbs,  jest  as  we  s'picioned  she  was.  I  s'pose 
you  got  uneasy  an'  come  to  hunt  her  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  thought  we  'd  like  to  locate  her 
befo7  it  got  into  the  night.  I  s'pose  it 's  fool- 


A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET  143 

ish  to  be  afraid  of  ole  Si,  but  somehow  we  've 
been  raised  to  fear  him,  an'  I  did  n't  know  but 
maybe  you  might  take  a  notion  to  come  home 
the  woods  way,  Sis,  an7  I  'd  jest  as  lief  none 
o'  my  folks  would  run  no  resks.  Sev'al  of  the 
niggers  say  they  've  saw  him  prowlin'  aroun' 
our  place  of  nights  lately,  but  I  'spect  that 's 
jest  to  clair  their  own  skirts  when  things  is 
missin'.  Our  children  say  somebody  has  went 
off  with  yo'  fishin'-pole,  Sis.  Do  you  know 
anything  about  it  ? " 

"Yas;  I  hid  it.'7  Her  voice  was  pretty 
steady,  considering  the  pressure  upon  her. 

"I  thought  likely  you  had.  First  thing 
when  we  come  home  from  church,  the  young 
ones  started  nosin'  round,  an'  they  missed  it. 
It  's  about  church-time  now,  deacon,  an'  ef 
you  want  to  git  in  for  the  openin'  hymn,  I  '11 
see  Melissy  home ;  or  ef  you— 

"No,  thank  you,  Caleb.  Not  thet  I  'd 
slight  a  hymn  because  I  can't  hear  it,  but  I 
ain't  been  raised  to  shift  a  lady  half-way 
home.  You  go  on  to  church,  an'  I  '11  be 
along  d'rec'ly." 

Miss  Melissa  dropped  the  deacon's  arm. 

"You  both  go,"  she  exclaimed.  "Nothm' 
ain't  goin'  to  hurt  me." 

But  the  deacon  held  her  fast. 


144  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

"  Go  along,  Sis/'  said  Caleb,  from  behind. 
"You  know  lie  can't  hear  nothin',  nohow. 
He  might  's  well  be  'scortin'  you  home  as 
settin'  up  noddin'."  Caleb  knew  so  well  the 
range  of  the  deacon's  half-awake  ear  that  he 
dared  hairbreadth  proximity  to  it  with  im 
punity.  "  An'  ef  you  don't  feel  like  comin'  to 
preachin',  which  I  should  n't  think  you  would 
after  a  whole  day  with  Mis'  Gibbs,  you  might 
let  Cynthy  go.  She  's  settin'  half  asleep  in 
the  rocker  between  the  children's  beds." 

"I  '11  stay  with  'em,"  said  Melissa.  "I 
s'pose  Saliny  has  gone  ahead." 

"  Yes ;  she  's  went  to  the  mother's  meet-in' 
in  the  session-room.  I  promised  thet  ef  you 
did  n't  come  in  time  I  'd  look  after  the  young 
sters.  They  're  all  asleep,  'cep'n'  Joe  an'  Sallie. 
They  're  comin'  straight  from  the  Epworth 
meetin'  to  church." 

As  he  left  them,  Caleb  turned  back  and 
called  to  his  sister :  "  Kind  o'  sorry  you  ain't 
comin'  to  church,  Sis.  Brother  Clayton  lays 
off  to  rouse  the  sleepers  in  the  temple  to-night. 
Goin'  to  preach  on  'Though  thy  sins  be  as 
scarlet'— you  know  the  rest  of  it."  And  as 
he  left  them  he  said  to  himself :  "  Dear  Lord  ! 
ef  them  two  could  only  see  theirselves  as 
others  see  'em." 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  145 

Miss  Melissa  made  no  reply,  but  presently 
she  said  to  the  deacon  : 

u  Did  you  ketch  what  Bud  said  to  me  ? " 

"  Well,  no  •  not  exacly.  I  aimed  for  it,  but 
my  tube  gits  tangled  sometimes.  But  I 
thought  I  caught  somethin7  about  starlight. 
It  is  a-goin7  to  be  a  starlight  night.  Was 
that  what  he  remarked  ?  " 

"No;  that  word  was  i scarlet/  not  i star 
light.7  He  knew  you  7d  set  out  to  pleg  me, 
an7  he  thought  he  7d  give  me  a  partin7  shot, 
that  7s  all.  He  was  jest  repeatin7  the  tex7 
Brother  Clayton  has  give  out  for  to-night. 
I  wonder  you  ain7t  mentioned  it  before.77 

She  was  too  angry  to  care  much  what  she 
said,  and  the  old  deacon,  although  he  did  not 
in  the  least  suspect  this,  felt  that  something 
was  wrong  with  her.  He  had  known  this  for 
some  time.  There  was  a  wail  in  the  voice 
that  commanded  him  to  hush,  and,  tender 
hearted  old  man  that  he  was,  he  felt  that  he 
could  not  sleep  until  he  found  out  what  the 
trouble  was. 

When  they  reached  her  gate,  Miss  Melissa, 
instead  of  asking  him  in,  extended  her  hand 
and  said  good  night.  "  I  know  you  7re  anx 
ious  to  get  to  church,  deacon,77  she  began  to 
say ;  but  he  interrupted  her : 


146  A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET 

"  I  ain't  anxious  to  do  nothin'  but  to  fall  on 
my  knees  and  apologize  right  an'  left,  Miss 
Melissy.  Whatever  I  've  done  or  said,  God 
knows,  but  I  've  hurt  yo'  feelin's,an'  I  would  n't 
'a'  done  sech  a  thing,  not  for  nothin'  on  earth. 
Ef  you  '11  jest  let  me-  go  in  an'  set  down  a 
minute— I  did  n't  ketch  the  drift  o'  what  Caleb 
said  about  his  wife,  but  I  reckon  she  's  likely 
gone  ahead  to  join  the  other  mothers,  as  usual ; 
an'  ef  so,  we  '11  have  the  parlor  to  ourselves, 
an'  you  kin  fetch  a  lamp  an'  scan  my  features 
for  honesty  while  I  tell  you  I  'm  innocent  of 
whatever  I  Jce  done  I n 

It  was  rather  scant  politeness,  but  Miss 
Melissa  said  not  a  word  as  she  led  the  way 
into  the  house. 

When  she  had  dismissed  the  negro,  and 
drawn  her  chair  beside  the  deacon's,— one 
must  needs  sit  close  to  a  deaf  man,— she  laid 
a  parcel  upon  the  center-table  at  her  elbow, 
and  began  to  speak;  but  the  deacon  inter 
rupted  her. 

"  Befo'  we  explain  fully,  Miss  Melissy,"  he 
said,  "  I  want  to  say  a  word.  I  'm  afeard  my 
talk  this  evenin'  clair  disgusted  you,  an'  I  'm 
sorry  I  said  them  things  about  the  whale.  I 
know  how  you  feel  about  all  Scripture,  an'  I 
ought  to  've  kep'  my  mouth  shet." 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  147 

"  Yon  need  n't  feel  bad  about  that,  deacon. 
To  be  candid,  after  the  first  shock,  it  sort 
o'  made  me  feel  nearer  to  yon  to  find  thet  you 
was  human  an'  frail.  Of  co'se  I  don't  share 
yo'  misgivin's.  I  believe  all  the  Holy  Scrip 
ture  verbatim,  word  for  word.  But  I  7m  of 
a  dangerous  disposition.  Ef  I  started  to 
doubt,  they  's  no  tellin'  where  I  'd  go.  But 
I  've  always  looked  upon  you  as  ef  you  was 
a  sort  o'  stained-glass  apostle  with  a  halo 
on,  like  them  two  in  the  'Piscopal  winders. 
Seemed  like  as  ef  you  jest  lived  up  to  every 
thing  perfect,  even  to  yo'  deefness— 'sense 
me  mentionin'  it.  Am  I  talkin'  loud  enough  ? " 

"  Yas ;  I  hear  every  word.  Settin'  so,  with 
the  house  still,  I  can  even  hear  that  lamp  sizz. 
Don't  you  reckon  you  better  turn  it  down  ? " 

She  turned  the  wick  as  she  went  on : 

"An',  as  I  said,  yo'  havin'  faith- weakness 
was  a  sort  o'  comfort  to  me.  I  don't  know  but 
it  makes  what  I  'm  about  to  say  a  little  easier 
for  me.  Of  co'se  you  know  all  about  my  mats ; 
you  've  showed  that." 

"  About  yo'  mats  ?  Why,  cert'n'y.  Every 
body  does  j  an'  I  think  they  're  to  be  strongly 
recommended— both  for  shape  an'  usefulness, 
an'  durability,  too ;  an'  ef  anybody  says  I  ever 
said  different—" 


148  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

"  I  'm  not  ref  errin'  to  my  green  mats,  dea 
con,  an'  you  know  it.  I  'm  referrin'  to  these." 

She  opened  the  parcel,  and  spread  the  scar 
let  mats  upon  her  lap. 

"  But  how  you  found  out  about  'em  I  don't 
know,  but  you  've  acknowledged  you  did ;  an' 
now  I  'in  goin'  to  out  with  the  whole  thing. 
I  s'pose  the  devil  tempted  me.  As  you  said 
this  evenin',  ef  I  ever  condescended  to  make 
a  red  mat,  or  one  out  o'  kilter,  the  devil  might 
have  hopes  of  me.  Well,  here  's  two— both 
all-fired  red,  an'  knit  with  no  mo'  conscience 
than  a  cat 's  got.  The  best  part  of  this  last 
one  I  've  knit  to-day— Sunday.  Not  a  stitch 
counted  in  either  one,  an'  how  they  turned 
out  so  everlastin'  pretty  I  don't  know.  It 's 
like  the  reward  of  vice.  Yas;  every  minute 
thet  I  ain't  been  fishin'  to-day,  I  've  knit— 
pretty  near.  Don't  put  on  surprise,  deacon. 
You  've  kep'  a-hintin'  about  my  fryin'  my 
own  fish,  an'  thro  win'  up  about  me  bein'  afraid 
of  Silent  Si,  so  of  co'se  you  know  about  our 
picnic.  I  went  fishin'  this  mornin',  'stid  o* 
goin'  to  church,  an'  happened  to  come  up  with 
the  old  nigger ;  an'  I  give  him  the  fish  to  cook, 
an'  then,  why,  we  picnicked.  I  did  n't  set 
down  to  the  table  with  him,  of  co'se— him  or 
her,  whichever  it  is.  An'  I  had  n't  been  to 


A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET  149 

Mis'  Gibbs's  ten  minutes  sca'cely,  this  evening 
when  you  come,  which  of  co'se  you  knew,  al 
though  you  referred  so  sarcastic  to  findin'  me 
a-tendin'  the  sick. 

"  I  s'pose  likely  I  'm  goin'  to  perdition.  I 
don't  know,  I  'm  shore;  but  I  did  n't  start 
with  no  sech  intention."  Her  lip  quivered 
here  just  a  little. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  got  sick  an'  tired  o'  them 
green  mats,  an'  wo'e  out  with  everything— all 
in  about  three  days ;  an'  ef  I  had  n't  started 
out  this  mornin',  an'  spent  all  the  energy  I 
had  left  in  Sabbath-breakin',  I  b'lieve  I  'd  'a' 
died.  I  'm  forty-one  years  old,  an'  I  've  green- 
matted  tel  I  'm  about  played  out. 

"  I  ain't  been  to  a  circus,  or  got  on  a  steam- 
car,  or  had  a  dress  made  out  o'  the  house— not 
for  over  twelve  years.  I  ain't  even  had  the 
luxury  of  a  spell  o'  sickness,  with  betterin' 
days  an'  neighbors'  trays  sent  in — not  for  nine 
years.  It 's  jest  been  mat-knittin'  whenever 
I  'd  try  to  git  a  little  diversion  from  the 
duties  of  a  aunt  an'  sister-in-law,  an'— an'— 
an'— 

"  Well,  it  broke  out  in  me  all  of  a  sudden, 
this  week,  an'  this  is  what  it  's  led  to.  Of 
co'se  you  can't  never  respect  me  no  more ;  but 
they  's  one  thing :  you  can't  pleg  me  like  you 


150  A  NOTE  OF  SCARLET 

attempted  to  do  to-night.  Nolody  dast  to  do 
that,  not  even  an  apostle  hisself,  ef  they  was 
one  alive. 

"  Ef  I  'm  put  out  o'  the  church  for  to-day's 
miseonduc',  why,  out  I  go,  that  's  all ;  but  I  '11 
give  myself  up ;  the  conference  won't  haf  to 
summons  me." 

She  had  been  borne  along  so  fiercely  by 
her  own  passion  that  she  had  failed  to  see  the 
growing  distress  in  the  deacon's  face  until  he 
laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm.  Then  it  was 
that  she  saw  that  there  were  tears  upon  his 
cheeks. 

"Hush,  Melissy,  hush!  For  God's  sake, 
hush ! "  He  was  obliged  to  take  his  hand 
kerchief  and  wipe  his  eyes. 

"What  you  've  told  me  is  all  new  to  me— 
before  God."  His  right  hand  trembled  visibly 
as  he  held  it  up  to  give  force  to  his  words. 

"  Yas ;  it 's  as  new  to  me  as  ef  Heaven  had 
jest  revealed  it ;  but,  bless  God,  how  happy  it 
does  make  me  feel !  Talk  about  respect-in1  you  ! 
Why,  honey,  I  would  n't  take  all  the  money 
in  Simpkinsville  bef o'  the  wah  for  what  you  've 
confessed  to  me.  It  brings  you  in  reach  of 
me.  For  ten  year  I  've  set  an'  contemplated 
you  an'  yore  life,  an'  so  far  as  I  could  scan  it, 
it 's  been  perfect,  an'  they 's  been  times  I  'd  'a' 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  151 

give  my  head  to  see  a  flaw  in  you ;  an',  bless 
Heaven,  the  time  has  come,  an'  I  can  speak. 
I  could  n't  ask  no  perf ec'  woman  to  be  my  wife 
—an'  me  a  poor  mericle-doubtin',  deef  old 
sinner  like  I  've  always  been. 

"  I  've  worshiped  you,  Melissy,  honey,  same 
as  I  'd  worship  a  saint,  for  over  ten  year ;  but 
no  human  man  's  got  a  right  to  make  love  to 
a  up-an'-down  saint. 

"  But  I  can  make  love  to  you  now,  an'  I  'm 
a-doin'  it  this  minute.  Any  dear-hearted 
woman  thet  's  lived  the  life  you  've  lived,  an' 
then,  when  she  was  put  to  it,  had  the  grit  to 
kick  out  o'  the  traces— 

He  put  his  arm  about  her,  as  if  she  had  been 
a  child  in  distress,  and  drew  her  to  him. 

"Did  you  take  notice  thet  I  never  said  I 
liked  the  color  o'  them  green  mats,  honey? 
Growin'  things  an'  tree-frogs  can  have  a 
monopoly  o'  that  color  for  me,  an'  I  don't 
wonder  you  got  tired  of  it.  But  these  red 
ones,  they  've  got  jest  enough  o'  the  ole  Nick 
in  'em  to  tickle  me  all  over. 

"We  '11  set  'em  on  the  mantel-shelf,  an' 
they  '11  illuminate  the  whole  house." 

Miss  Melissa  sat  quite  still  and  looked 
doubtingly  into  the  deacon's  face.  His 
words  did  not  satisfy  her.  He  realized  the 


152  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

mats  in  their"  worst  meaning,  and  yet  he 
took  pleasure  in  them.  Her  voice  was  al 
most  reproachful  when  she  said,  after  a 
while  : 

"You  would  n't  want  to  illuminate  the 
house  with  a  reminder  of  my  sinfulness, 
would  you  ?  " 

"  'T  ain't  that,  deary.  It  '11  be  as  a  re 
minder  of  yo'  humanness— that 's  all." 

"  An'  yet  they  're  the  reverend  color  of  sin, 
accordin'  to  Scripture.  '  Though  thy  sins 
be-'" 

"  That 's  only  half  o'  the  tex',  honey." 

"  Yas ;  that 's  so.  Maybe  it  will  be  jest  as 
well  to  keep  'em  in  sight.  We  '11  try  to  reelize 
the  promise  every  time  we  look  at  'em— 
1  whiter  than  snow.'  That-a-way  they  '11  be 
symbols  of  forgiveness." 

"That  cotation  ain't  'whiter  than  snow,' 
honey.  It 's  <  as  white  as  snow,'  an'  it 's  from 
the  first  chapter  of  the  prophet  Isaiah,  eigh 
teenth  verse.  You  're  thinkiu'  about  a  psa'm 
verse.  It  's  the  Fifty-first  Psa'm,  seventh 
verse,— seventh  or  eighth,— thet  says  *  whiter 
than  snow.'  Well,  you  can  read  the  mats  that- 
a-way,  ef  you  like,  but  don't  talk  too  much  about 
it,  now,  lessen  you  '11  skeer  me.  I  don't  "doubt 
you  're  entirely  too  good  for  me,  after  all. 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  153 

But,  for  better  or  for  worse,  you  're  mine, 
from  this  time  on  through  all  eternity,  lessen 
you  cast  me  off. 

"  Even  ef  I  was  to  wake  up  sudden  an'  find 
I  'd  been  dreamin'  all  this  whole  thing,  I  'd 
set  out  to  hunt  you  up  an'  co't  you  now— that 
is,  ef  I  remembered  all  the  dream." 

"Which  part  do  you  mean?"  She  looked 
artlessly  into  his  face  as  she  asked  it. 

"  Put  on  yo'  guessin'-cap,"  he  chuckled,  as 
he  tightened  his  arm  about  her  and  covered 
her  hand  with  his. 

"All  scarlet  ain't  sin,"  he  added,  looking 
down  upon  her.  "The  side  o'  yo'  neck  an' 
yo'  ear— don't  turn  away,  now.  It 's  perfectly 
lovely.  But  how  did  you  git  them  little  black 
freckles  on  yo'  wrist  ? " 

He  had  lifted  her  hand  and  was  turning 
it  over.  "  And  how  red  it  is  !  The  right  one 
ain't  that-a-way." 

"  Them 's  Sunday  freckles,"  she  said  evenly. 
"  You  know,  I  'm  left-handed,  an'  that  's  my 
fishin'  hand.  It  's  been  held  over  the  water 
in  the  sun  the  livelong  day.  I  wonder  you 
dast  to  hold  it." 

"'T  ain't  no  worse  for  me  to  lH)ld  yo'  po 
little  Sabbath-breakin'  hand  than  for  you 

to  be  a-listenin'  to  the  words  of  my  doubt- 
10 


154  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

expressin'  tongue,  is  it  ? n  he  chuckled  j  but  in 
a  moment  he  added  seriously : 

"  But  they  's  some  precious  truths  I  ain't 
never  doubted,  deary.  I  ain't  never  doubted 
the  love  of  God,  or  the  blessedness  of  livin'  in 
Him,  or  the  beauty  of  holiness. 

"But,"— and  now  he  chuckled  again,— 
"come  down  to  it,  it  's  only  these  trinin' 
little  one-day  open-air  freckles  on  yo'  hand 
thet  brings  it  where  I  can  feel  anyways  eligible 
to  it— that  is,  it  's  what  these  dear  little  freck 
les  express— God  bless  'em !  Seems  to  me 
you  must  freckle  mighty  easy,  though." 

"  I  always  did.  You  know,  I  was  sandy- 
haired  befo'  I—" 

"You  're  sandy-haired  yet,  deary.  The 
prettiest  sand  on  earth  is  the  white  sand  o' 
the  sea-shore.  It 's  whiter  than  snow,  ef  any 
thing  outside  of  a  pure  woman's  soul  is.  But 
yo'  hair  ain't  arrived  at  that  stage,  quite. 
They  's  a  plenty  of  the  earthly  sand-color  in 
it  yet,  an'  I  'm  glad  of  it.  Sand  an'  grit,  you 
know,  they  're  pretty  nigh  the  same  tiling. 
I  like  a  woman  thet 's  got  grit.  It  was  mighty 
gritty  the  way  you  owned  up  to  all  you  done, 
knowin'  you  'd  have  to  face  the  music  alone. 

"  Oh,  what  a  joy  this  day  has  brought  me ! 
Yas,  indeed,  we  '11  put  these  red  mats  in  sight, 


u  ARE  YOU  SHORE  YOU  DOUBT  ? 


A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET  157 

an'  they  '11  be  beacons  to  us  both,  each  in  a 
different  way,  maybe.  An'  nobody  but  you 
an'  me  an'  the  gate-post— * 

"  Which  ole  Si  is  as  deef  as— 

"Will  ever  know  the  story  of  'em.  I  'm 
s'prised  you  was  n't  afeard  of  ole  Si,  though. 
They  say  he  's  picked  up  a  ole  stovepipe  hat 
somewhere,  an'  with  it  an'  his  dress-skirts  an' 
boots— 

"  I  would  n't  like  to  come  on  'im  sudden  in 
the  dusk  myself.  You  know  I  offered  him 
shelter,  four  year  ago,  in  my  barn;  but  he 
would  n't  have  it.  I  don't  wonder  you  thought 
I  knew  about  yo'  seem'  him.  Every  time  I 
opened  my  mouth  to-night,  seem  like  I  put 
my  foot  in  it,  as  the  sayin'  is. 

"  But  do  you  reelize  thet  you  ain't  holdin' 
back  from  me  none,  an'  thet  I  'm  keepin'  my 
arm  around  you,  straight  along,  an'  I  'm 
a-takin'  a  heap  o'  things  for  granted  ? " 

At  this  Miss  Melissa  withdrew  herself ;  but 
she  was  not  blushing,  nor  in  any  wise  con 
scious  or  confused. 

"It  's  all  so  sudden,"  she  said  evenly, 
"  seem  like  I  can'  quite  git  the  straight  of  it. 
I  feel  like  as  ef  the  Apostle  John  had  ast  me 
to  marry  him,  an'  while  I  was  holdin'  off,  half 
scared,  he  turned  into  Peter,  an'— an'— " 


158  A  NOTE  OF   SCARLET 

"  An'  you  give  in  to  Peter  ? " 

Her  face  was  as  red  as  the  scarlet  mat,  but 
the  deacon  did  not  see  it.  Her  voice  betrayed 
her  embarrassment  somewhat,  though,  as  she 
said,  lowering  her  tone  a  little : 

"  I  could  take  Peter  easier  'n  I  could  John. 
He  would  n't  be  sech  a  constant  reproach  to 
me.  But  you  've  been  like  John  to  me  for  so 
long— I  can't  hardly—" 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  putting 
her  lips  close  to  his  good  ear,  continued : 

"  Are  you  shore  you  doubt,  in  yo'  heart  of 
hearts,  about  Jonah  an'  the  whale— an'  it  all 
stated  clair  in  the  Bible?  You  ain't  jest 
makin'  pretend,  jest  to  encourage  me  ? " 

"  Why,  honey,  I  told  you  about  that  before 
I  knew—" 

"  So  you  did.    An'  you  're  slwre  you  doubt  ? " 

"  I  'm  afeard  I  am,  beloved." 

"Well,  ef  you're  slwre— maybe  we  can  be  a 
help  to  one  another." 


UNCLE    STILL'S   FAMOUS 
WEATHEB  PREDICTION 

)HEY  called  him  "  Uncle  Still n  on  the 
plantation,  because  he  was  a  silent 
man. 

Still  had  been  self-contained  and  ruminant 
ever  since  his  childhood.  Indeed,  when  he 
was  a  mere  piccaninny,  sitting  apart  from 
the  other  children  and  " mooning"  while  they 
romped  in  the  fields,  his  mother  had  accredited 
him  with  "  knowin'  mo7  ?n  he  let  on/'  and  his 
rare  utterances  as  he  grew  older  were  such 
as  to  verify  her  claim  for  him. 

When  he  was  only  a  wide-eyed  stripling, 
he  was  fond  of  walking  alone  in  the  woods 
or  of  throwing  himself  in  the  deep  grass, 
where,  with  his  hoe  lying  idle  beside  him,  he 
would  lay  his  ear  against  the  earth  and  listen ; 
and  where  another  could  discern  only  silence, 
the  boy  would  report  "  heat-callin's,"  or 
"  frost- warnings,"  or  "  myriads  callm'  fer 

159 


ICO  UNCLE  STILL'S  FAMOUS 

rain,"  or  "  stiddy  songs  fer  pleasant  days," 
and  those  who  watched  him  said  that  "his 
scent  was  true." 

But,  with  all  this,  Still  was  a  despiser  of 
learning,  and  even  in  an  environment  where 
education  was  held  in  reverence,  as  a  gift  of 
Heaven  reserved  for  the  few  and  the  free,  he 
early  declared  himself  an  enemy  to  books. 

"  Book-knowledge  !  "  he  exclaimed  con 
temptuously.  "Why,  hit  ain't  nothin'  but 
secon'-han'  wisdom,  an',  of  co'se,  fer  seek  as 
can't  read,  hit  's  de  bes'  dey  is.  But  fer 
humans  wha'  understan'  sky  an'  fieP  pages 
an'  woods  books,  an'  kin  see  shut-eye  wonders 
—  hit's  stale." 

This  was  one  of  his  longest  remembered 
speeches,  delivered  when  he  was  a  young  man, 
and  it  went  far  to  establish  the  reputation 
for  "wisdoms"  and  "knowledges"  (a  plural 
store)  that  had  followed  him  through  life  and 
set  him  apart  in  the  popular  regard  as  one 
who  might  with  impunity  live  the  life  of  idle 
ness  which  he  essayed. 

At  this  period  his  favorite  sport  was  fish 
ing,  and  he  was  known  to  go  day  after  day 
to  a  certain  moss-grown  projection  overlook 
ing  a  turn  in  the  creek,  and  to  sit  there  from 
early  morning  till  nearly  dark,  when,  if  he 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  161 

wanted  fish,  he  would  cross  over  to  where  the 
conditions  were  favorable,  a  stone's-throw 
away,  and  catch  a  string  of  perch  in  a  few 
minutes.  He  knew  they  would  n't  bite  at  the 
first  place,  and  he  "went  there  a-purpose," 
because  he  "did  n't  want  to  be  bothered"; 
and  so,  letting  his  line  drift  with  the  stream, 
he  would  become  a  part  of  the  landscape  and 
"  watch  an'  listen  in  peace,"  as  wide  awake  as 
the  "  black-eyed-Susans  "  at  his  elbow,  but  as 
still  as  the  bank  from  which  they  sprang. 

It  would  seem,  from  these  and  similar 
indications,  that  there  had  been  somewhat  of 
the  poet  in  old  Still  in  these  his  callow  days ; 
but,  as  has  been  the  fate  of  many  another  of 
fairer  promise,  he  began  to  grow  fat  before 
he  had  reached  mid-life— not  only  fat,  which 
is  perhaps  not  per  se  a  condition  unfavorable 
to  the  poet's  growth,  but  fatty,  a  word  which, 
albeit  it  is  an  adjective  and  refuses  to  serve 
with  grace,  we  must  needs  misfit  for  our  pur 
pose.  To  grow  fatty  is  to  degenerate  hope 
lessly.  Perhaps  it  is  not  the  fattiness  so 
much  as  the  state  of  satisfaction  that  it  in 
duces  that  is  so  fatal  to  the  best  things.  By 
the  time  Still  was  forty  he  was  a  soft,  fat 
dreamer,  who  was  apparently  blandly  content 
simply  to  endure. 


1G2  UNCLE   STILL'S   FAMOUS 

"I  feels  best  when  I  sets  stock-still,"  was 
one  of  his  characteristic  declarations  at  this 
period,  uttered  in  the  presence  of  his  good 
wife,  who  quickly  added,  in  a  tone  of  tender 
solicitude : 

"Yas;  an'  de  stiller  you  sets  de  stockier 
you  gits." 

Thirty  years  more  or  less  had  passed  since 
then,  and  Uncle  Still,  the  old  man,  continued 
to  feel  best  when  he  was  stillest,  and  his  out 
ward  growths  were  those  of  breadth  and 
serenity.  No  one  knew  definitely  when  his 
natural  reticence  had  crystallized  into  the 
silence  that  had  been  broken  in  years  only 
under  great  pressure  that  gave  his  utterances 
import  beyond  their  abstract  value,  but  it 
was  probably  about  the  time  when  he  took 
permanently  to  his  chair. 

It  seems  fitting  that  a  prophet  should  be  a 
man  of  few  words  and  many  wisdoms,  if  he 
have  faithful  followers  who  wait  upon  his 
speech. 

For  about  ten  years,  now,  Still  had  sat 
from  morn  to  night  in  the  straight,  splint- 
bottomed  chair  placed  for  him  at  sunrise  by 
his  good  wife  on  the  spot  indicated  by  the 
silent  direction  of  his  right  thumb.  The 
index-finger  may  command  on  occasion,  but 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  163 

there  is  no  gainsaying  the  peremptoriness  of 
the  pointing  thumb. 

'Tild'  Ann  was  an  obedient  wife,  and  she 
was  proud  of  her  lord.  Perhaps  she  loved 
him ;  but  that  was  her  business.  Certain  it 
is  that  her  outward  motions  were  those  of  de 
votion,  and  that  is  all  the  world  has  a  right 
to  require  of  a  wife.  It  was  one  of  her 
favorite  boasts  that  he  was  one  of  the  "  mos' 
pompious  an'  bes'-dressed  gen'lemens  in  de 
county/'  and  when  he  took  the  chair  she  set 
for  him  daily  it  was  her  habit  to  give  him  a 
touch  here  and  there,  straightening  his  stock, 
or  even,  on  occasion,  tying  his  shoe  for  him, 
before  she  left  him  for  her  tubs,  where  it  was 
her  pleasure  to  earn  a  support  sufficient  for 
two. 

Although  he  was  supposed  to  have  varied 
"  knowledges  "  on  subjects  occult,  and  to  see 
things  invisible  to  others,  Still's  greatest 
reputation  was  for  "  weather- wisdom,"  and  it 
was  said  that  during  all  the  years  that  he 
had  occupied  his  chair  he  had  never  been 
surprised  by  weather  that  had  compelled 
him  to  move.  And  when  his  wife  would 
observe  a  neighbor  coming  to  the  turn  of  the 
road  and  peeping  over  the  fence  to  see  where 
he  sat,  she  would  chuckle  softly  to  herself. 


1G4  UNCLE  STILL'S  FAMOUS 

Still  did  not  like  the  sun  upon  his  head, 
neither  did  he  like  the  rain  in  his  face,  and 
so,  if  he  began  the  day  in  the  open  beyond 
the  tree,  it  was  safe  for  his  neighbors  to 
count  upon  a  gray  day.  The  hot  rainless 
days  of  summer  he  spent  beside  his  spouse 
at  her  wash-bench  in  the  shade  of  the  trees, 
while  in  a  corner  of  the  back  shed  he  got  the 
best  there  was  for  his  lungs  out  of  a  day 
given  over  to  a  "  stiddy  drizzle."  And  so  it 
was  necessary  only  to  discover  where  he  sat 
to  know  the  day's  temper.  Seeing  him  on 
the  corner  of  the  "  gallery,"  even  though  the 
early  morning  was  fine,  his  neighbors  would 
feel  safe  in  setting  out  tomato-plants  or  cab 
bages.  Even  the  gardener  at  the  great  house 
had  been  seen  to  peep  slyly  over  the  fence 
before  venturing  to  draw  back  the  covers 
from  his  hotbeds.  Thus  it  seems  that  'Tild7 
Ann's  was  no  idle  claim  when  she  boasted 
that  as  a  weather-prophet  her  old  man  was 
"  better  'n  a  woodsful  o'  tree- toads  or  a  whole 
slough  o'  croakin'  frogs  [she  pronounced  it 
sloo],  an'  a  million  times  mo'  fur-seein'  'n  deze 
heah  vain  weather-vanes  wha'  don't  no  mo'  'n 
'nounce  de  win'  arter  it  's  done  come,"  which 
last,  at  least,  was  certainly  true. 

But,  even  more  than  this,  under  pressure 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  165 

of  special  petition  the  old  man  Still  some 
times  foretold  weather  as  much  as  a  week 
ahead;  but  in  these  cases  his  answers  were 
given  in  pantomime,  which  it  was  the  busi 
ness  of  the  •"  seekers  "  to  interpret.  But  they 
were  generally  simple  enough.  A  quick  shiv 
er,  the  buttoning  or  unbuttoning  of  his  coat, 
the  mopping  of  his  forehead,  or  the  rolling 
up  of  his  trousers,  were  motions  which  even 
he  who  could  n't  run  might  read.  Some 
times,  however,  his  pantomime  was  more 
ambiguous,  and  so  susceptible  of  several  in 
terpretations  that  before  following  any  one 
of  them  the  seeker  thought  it  safe  to  take  a 
survey  of  the  weather  and  exercise  a  casting- 
vote  based  on  personal  judgment,  which 
would  obviously  be  strengthened  by  the  pro- 
phet's  indorsement  in  any  case. 

Although  there  were  few  of  the  younger 
set  on  the  plantation  who  had  ever  heard  the 
sound  of  the  old  man's  voice,  they  were  all 
familiar  with  his  potent  words  as  handed 
down  to  them,  and  the  boy  who  had  lain  with 
his  ear  "  ag'in'  dead  leaves  to  git  live  wisdom  " 
had  not,  through  the  simple  withdrawal  of 
speech,  lost  an  atom  of  his  prestige.  Indeed, 
his  mysterious  silence  rather  strengthened 
his  position.  It  was  almost  uncanny  to  see 


106  UNCLE  STILL'S  FAMOUS 

him  sometimes,  now,  point  with  his  thumb 
to  a  clump  of  grass  that  he  wanted,  and  when 
it  was  brought,  raise  it  between  his  eyes  and 
the  sun  for  a  moment,  pluck  a  blossom  or  a 
seed-pod  and  hold  it  to  his  ear,  then  throw 
the  whole  away  and  silently  reach  for  his 
great  palmetto  fan  or  open  his  umbrella. 

Sometimes,  when  the  case  was  important, 
the  seekers  brought  gifts  to  'Tild'  Ann. 
They  began  bringing  them  to  the  old  prophet 
himself,  but  there  is  small  satisfaction  in 
giving  to  one  who  does  not  even  blink  his 
thanks ;  and  as  'Tild'  Ann  was  an  engaging 
woman  of  warmth  and  words,  whom  it  was 
a  pleasure  to  please,  and  as  she  commanded 
the  "right  of  way"  to  the  prophet,  she 
naturally  became  the  recipient  of  what,  in 
her  wifely  pride,  she  was  pleased  to  call 
''Still's  earuin's."  And,  for  that  matter,  it 
was  she,  and  not  her  silent  lord,  who,  it  was 
said,  had  "th'owed  out  de  hint"  by  which 
the  generous  were  encouraged  in  their  offer 
ings,  her  judgment  in  the  matter  being  that 
"  ef  Still's  prophecies  is  wuth  anything,  dey 
sho  is  wuth  a  pint  o'  milk  or  a  couple  o'  fresh 
aigs,"  which  seems  a  very  moderate  estimate 
of  his  powers. 

When,  on  rare  occasions,  the  old  man  had 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  167 

had  recourse  to  the  spoken  word,— presu 
mably  either  because  he  could  find  no  other 
medium,  or  for  the  sake  of  emphasis,— the 
monosyllable  falling  from  his  long-silent  lips 
had  reverberated  through  frequent  repetitions 
to  the  remotest  limits  of  his  constituency, 
which  is  to  say,  the  range  of  plantation  circles 
within  a  radius  of  a  dozen  miles,  more  or 
less,  in  any  direction  bounded  by  river, 
swamp,  or  bayou. 

"  Uncle  Still  done  spoke  !  " 

"  Ole  Unc'  Still  done  spoke !  " 

"What  he  say?" 

"Whoheerdhim?" 

"He  say  <Git!"; 

"Who  he  say  'Git' to?" 

"He  say  < Git7  to  ole  Horse-steal  Tyler,  dat 
who  he  say  it  to." 

"  He  did,  did  he  ?  An'  what  ole  Horse-steal 
Tyler  do?" 

"  What  he  do  ?  When  Uncle  Still  say, '  Git/ 
why,  he  got,  dat  what  he  done  !  He  jes  cut 
out  an7  run  same  as  ef  de  devil  was  arter 
him.  An'  he  did  n't  cut  out  none  too  quick, 
nuther.  De  sheriff  purty  nigh  trod  on  his 
heel ;  but  he  did  n't  ketch  him  !  " 

Such  is  a  brief  sketch  of  his  last  utterance 
and  its  sensational  passage  j  and  for  this  one 


108  UNCLE  STILL'S  FAMOUS 

word  of  spirit,  spoken  in  the  nick  of  time, 
the  good  woman  'Tild'  Aim  enjoyed  a  rich 
harvest.  Everybody  who  wished  to  know 
anything  came  and  waited  before  the  silent 
man,  leaving  a  gratuity  in  her  hand.  It  was 
surprising  to  find  how  many  kinds  of 
"knowledges"  he  really  had,  now  that  the 
day  of  full  honor  had  come  to  him,  and  how 
many  ways  there  were  of  telling  things  with 
out  speech.  He  even  knew  about  all  the 
babies  who  were  predestined  to  appear  during 
the  year;  not  only  that,  but  whether  they 
would  arrive  singly  or  gregariously,  by  twos 
or  even  threes.  This  precise  information, 
however,  was  just  the  sort  of  tiling  that  he 
discreetly  withheld  from  every  one,  it  would 
seem,  excepting  his  good  wife  ;  and  she,  being 
no  meddler  in  things  that  did  not  concern 
her,  did  no  more  than  innocently  remark 
after  the  events  had  occurred:  "I  could  'a' 
tol'  you  dat  las'  summer''— a  harmless  little 
wifely  weakness  that,  in  adding  to  her  good 
man's  reputation,  helped  to  boil  the  family 
pot. 

As  is  a  way  with  modern  prophecies,  the 
very  strength  of  Uncle  Still's  utterances 
seemed  sometimes  to  lie  in  their  ambiguity. 
For  example,  when  he  took  from  his  pocket 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  169 

a  nut  and  handed  it  to  Lily  Belvedere  when 
she  came,  a  bride,  seeking  foreknowledge, 
and  she  opened  it  in  the  presence  of  her 
friends,  to  find  within  it  a  double  kernel, — 
otherwise  a  philopena,— the  inference  seems 
plain  enough,  and  a  more  astute  woman 
than  she,  having  faith  in  her  prophet,  would 
have  been  forgiven  for  "  sewing  for  two,"  as 
she  did,  during  the  year  following.  But  when, 
along  about  Christmas,  there  arrived  at  her 
cabin  a  single  brown  boy-child,  she  would 
have  denounced  the  old  man  as  a  charlatan, 
had  not  the  granny  who  dressed  the  babe 
called  her  attention  to  the  double  crown  upon 
his  head,  which,  manifestly,  was  an  answer 
to  the  prediction  of  the  philopena  symbol, 
and  indicated  that  hers  was  no  common  child. 
All  the  plantation  folk  know  that  two 
crowns  on  one  head  indicate  a  double  men 
tality  and  gifts  of  sight  as  pronounced  as 
those  of  such  as  are  "born  with  a  caul,"  and 
whose  vision  is  not  in  the  least  disturbed  by 
so  trifling  interpositions  as  stone  walls,  black 
darknesses,  or  infinite  distance,  and  whose 
only  drawback  is,  perhaps,  an  occasional 
embarrassment  in  a  loss  of  perspective  and 
space-values,  through  the  equal  clearness  with 
which  all  things  are  seen. 


170  UNCLE   STILL'S  FAMOUS 

For  instance,  seeing  a  woman  and  a  bull 
in  a  field,  each  in  perfectly  distinct  outline, 
such  a  one  might  not  instantly  be  sure 
Avhether  he  was  seeing  the  woman  through 
the  bull  or  the  bull  through  the  woman,  and 
for  catastrophe-averting  action,  which  must 
needs  be  swift,  the  sure  snap-shot  of  the  eyes 
of  common  mortals  has  its  value.  There  is 
an  embarrassment  in  perfection,  in  a  condi 
tion  distinguished  by  limitations. 

But,  speaking  of  Lily  and  the  philopena 
prediction,  she  was  so  pleased  over  it  that 
when  her  babe  was  a  month  old  she  brought 
him  to  see  the  old  man,  bearing  a  gift  of 
tobacco  in  his  little  fist.  Carefully  drawing 
back  the  tight  kinks,  she  proudly  exhibited 
the  double  whorl  of  hair  which  grew  upon 
his  head  as  if  it  had  started  from  two  points. 
The  prophet  took  no  notice  of  it  apparently, 
or  of  her  either,  until  she  turned  to  go,  when, 
reaching  down  into  his  pocket,  he  produced 
a  handful  of  nuts,  and  carefully  selecting  one, 
laid  in  her  hand  a  second  philopena,  and  she 
went  home  wondering. 

Christmas  was  always  a  week  long  on  the 
plantation,  which  is  to  say  that  the  annual 
dance  on  Christmas  eve  was  but  an  usher 
ing  in  of  a  series  of  festivities  that  never 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  171 

flagged  until  New  Year's  night.  To  "  come 
and  spend  Christmas  n  is  even  yet  an  invita 
tion  for  the  week,  in  the  best  of  plantation 
life  above  the  quarters,  in  many  communities. 

At  Christmas-time  of  the  year  of  the 
memorable  freeze  that  killed  all  the  orange- 
trees  in  old  man  Fortier's  back  yard  in  the 
month  of  April,  it  was  too  warm  to  dance  on 
the  bayou  on  Christmas  eve,  and  so  the  usual 
ball  was,  by  unanimous  voice,  deferred  until 
"the  last  day  of  Christmas"  instead  of  the 
first.  It  seemed  certain  that  the  overdue 
cold  snap  would  put  in  an  appearance  before 
that  time,  and  the  people  would  feel  more  in 
the  mood  for  it.  Besides,  as  the  crop  had 
been  an  unusually  good  one,  the  hands  were 
promised  a  rendering  of  accounts  a  day  earlier 
than  usual,  so  that,  knowing  the  exceptional 
balances  to  their  credit,  they  might  enter  the 
New  Year  "  with  their  heads  up."  It  would 
be  a  dancing  season  in  more  senses  than  one. 

The  Christmas  dance  in  the  sugar-house 
was  usually  an  occasion  of  romantic  culmina 
tions,  anyway;  for  such  of  the  young  men 
as  foresaw  a  creditable  reckoning  on  the  1st 
of  January  were  emboldened  to  speak  final 
words  at  the  dance,  and  it  was  no  uncommon 
thing  for  more  than  one  long-pending  engage- 


172  UNCLE   STILL'S  FAMOUS 

ment  to  be  "  purnouuced "  before  the  dance 
was  over. 

On  the  night  before  New  Year's  eve  of  the 
year  of  the  freeze  it  was  still  hot,  and  inside 
the  cabins  there  were  rnosquitos  thick  around 
the  candles.  Outside,  the  conditions  were 
little  better,  but  there  was  a  white  moon 
above,  and  the  ground  was  dry  and  firm. 
Outside  were  mosquitos,  too,  but  really,  in 
Louisiana,  the  people  do  not  care  much  about 
mosquitos.  It  would  n't  pay  to  care.  If 
they  cared  at  all,  they  would  have  to  care  too 
much,  for  they  are  a  pest  and  a  plague,  and 
should  have  been  mentioned,  one  would  think, 
in  the  Book  of  Job. 

Next  morning  it  would  be  time  to  prepare 
for  the  dance,  to  bring  evergreens  from  the 
woods,  and  Spanish  moss,  and  palmettos, 
and  to  hang  the  "  s'ciety  banners  "  about.  Of 
course,  now  that  the  last  day  had  arrived,  the 
dance  must  come  off  "  whe'r  or  no."  Those 
who  would  n't  dance  out  Christmas  and  the 
old  year  at  the  same  time,  "  heat  or  no  heat," 
might  "  set  aroun'  an'  look  on,"  but  the  ball 
would  come  off  "  shore." 

Next  morning  it  was  warmer  than  ever. 
It  really  seemed  silly  for  such  as  were  driven 
out  of  their  cabins  by  the  heat  and  sat  fan 
ning  themselves  on  their  door-steps  at  eight 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  173 

o'clock  in  the  morning  to  be  arranging  an 
indoor  dance  for  that  night.  It  was  Apollo 
Belvedere,  the  little  yellow  fiddler,  Lily's  hus 
band,  who  first  said  it  was  silly,  and  that,  for 
his  part,  he  thought  the  most  sensible  thing 
would  be  to  have  the  dance  in  the  grove  in 
stead,  and  to  hire  the  Chinese  lanterns  from 
the  white  Baptists,  who  had  bought  them  for 
their  missionary  pound-party,  and  charged 
only  two  dollars  for  the  use  for  a  night  of 
the  entire  two  hundred. 

Apollo  had  been  somewhat  reticent  about 
the  Christmas  dance  this  year  from  the  first. 
The  truth,  which  he  did  not  in  the  least 
realize  and  would  honestly  have  denied,  was 
that  he  was  jealous  of  whomever  should  be 
the  belle  at  the  dance  this  year.  His  Lily 
had  reigned  supreme  for  the  last  four  seasons, 
and  he  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  an 
other's  dancing  down  the  line  of  her  recent 
triumphs. 

Lily  was  handsomer  than  ever  the  day  she 
stepped  into  the  road  with  Apollo,  Jr.,  upon 
her  arm,  and  she  would  have  been  quite  as 
ready  now  to  dance  her  slippers  off,  as  she 
had  done  last  year;  but  mothers  of  babies 
are  not  expected  to  "lead  off"  in  the  dance 
at  plantation  functions. 

But  she  could  top  the  crowd  in  the  lantern- 


174  UNCLE  STILL'S  FAMOUS 

lit  grove,  and  so  he  pictured  her  stepping 
proudly  about  and  passing  her  baby  around 
from  one  to  another  to  be  admired  until  he 
should  fall  asleep  and  be  handed  over  to  his 
daddy,  who  would  cover  him  over  with  his 
coat  on  a  bench  beside  him  and  let  him  "  git 
used  to  sleepin'  by  dance-music."  It  was  a 
fond  paternal  fancy,  and  in  his  enjoyment  of 
it  Apollo  felt  that  he  was  employing  his  best 
part,  which  was  probably  true. 

There  was  much  that  was  attractive  in  the 
scheme,  much  beyond  the  novelty  of  an  out 
door  dance  at  New  Year's,  that  appealed  to 
everybody.  All  the  comrnitteemen  and  the 
floor  manager  approved  of  it,  "  ef  —  There 
was  a  big  "  if  "  in  the  case,  and  it  was  about 
the  weather.  Supposing  it  should  rain?  It 
was  likely  to,  at  almost  any  moment,  no  mat 
ter  if  the  sky  was  clear,  while  the  temper 
ature  was  so  high.  They  dare  not  make 
preparations  without  some  assurance  of  fair 
weather.  With  this,  and  a  full  moon,  there 
would  be  nothing  finer  than  the  dance  in  the 
grove,  and  it  was  at  this  juncture  that  Apollo 
bethought  himself  of  Uncle  Still. 

In  half  an  hour  he  had  presented  himself 
before  'Tild'  Ann,  armed  with  one  of  Lily's 
best  custard-pies  (purloined  from  her  cup- 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  175 

"board).  He  laid  it  beside  'Tild'  Ann's  tub  on 
the  wash-bench,  with  the  compliments  of  the 
season  from  "Mr.  Apollo  Belvedere,  Jr." 
Then,  respectfully  taking  off  his  hat  and 
holding  it  behind  him,  he  went  and  stood 
before  the  man  of  "wisdoms,"  while  he 
opened  his  case. 

"  Howdy,  Unc'  Still,  howdy,  sir  ? "  he  began. 
"I  'm  pleased  to  see  you  settin'  outside  de 
portals  o'  yo7  residence  dis  mornin',  kaze  we- 
all  on  de  dance  an'  ban'  committees  is  peti- 
tionin'  fer  a  continuation  o'  summer  an'  a 
smilin'  moon.  Seem  like  ef  we  could  dance 
under  a  clair  firmamint,  an'— an'  put  out  de 
flags  an'  lanterns  under  de  trees  to  light  up  de 
path,  whiles  de  ladies  toe  it  by  twos  down 
de  cedar  row,  an'  de  gemmen  sachey  roun'  de 
poplars  on  each  side,  an'  meet  'em  one  by 
one,  an'  s'lute  pardners  bias- ways,  right  an' 
lef,  an'  swing  corners  back  to  de  Cherokee 
hedge, — all  by  de  light  o'  de  moon  on  high, 
answered  by  de  paper  lanterns  below." 

Apollo  was  an  eloquent  fellow,  and  while 
his  enthusiasm  bore  him  bravely  along  he 
watched  the  old  man's  face  for  a  sign. 

"  So  I  say  ef  we  had  de  incouragemint  o? 
wisdom  to  put  out  de  banners  an'  lanterns— '; 

"  Put  out  yo'  lanterns  !  " 


170  UNCLE  STILL'S  FAMOUS 

The  interruption  was  so  sudden  and  unex 
pected,  and  the  voice  so  sepulchral  and  re 
mote,  that  Apollo  fell  back  as  if  he  had  been 
shot,  tumbling  over  two  sleeping  dogs  behind 
him  j  and  when  they  waked,  barking,  'Tild' 
Ann  was  so  startled  that  she  tilted  her  starch- 
tub  over  on  her  feet  and  nearly  choked  on 
the  piece  of  pie  she  had  in  her  mouth. 

Before  she  could  recover  herself,  Apollo 
had  darted  through  the  gate  with  both  dogs 
after  him,  and  she  could  see  only  the  top  of 
his  hat,  which  he  waved  in  the  air  as  he  ran, 
shouting :  "  Unc'  Still  done  spoke  !  He  say 
put  out  de  lanterns  !  Put  out  de  lanterns !  " 

IT  was  a  festive  and  effective  scene  in  the 
grove  that  night— long  strings  of  lanterns 
festooned  from  tree  to  tree,  and  the  laden 
refreshment-table  decorated  with  yards  upon 
yards  of  green  tarlatan  hired  with  the  lan 
terns,  with  banners  bearing  the  various 
society  mottos  hung  where  they  would  best 
catch  the  light ;  and  the  girls,  dressed  mostly 
in  white,  with  their  polished  dark  arms  and 
necks  shining  through,  walking  arm  in  arm 
with  loftily  groomed,  strutting  fellows  in 
rusty  broadcloth  with  "  buttonhole  bo'quets," 
and  chaffing  one  another  in  "  company  lan 
guage"  as  they  "promenaded." 


WEATHER   PREDICTION  177 

While  Apollo  stood  aside  timing  his  fiddle, 
he  took  in  the  picture  and  mentally  hugged 
himself  for  planning  it  all  j  for  although  the 
girls  were  radiant  and  Lily  had  a  new  posi 
tion  among  them,  he  realized,  as  she  towered 
above  them  all  with  the  child  upon  her  arm, 
that  it  was  no  secondary  place. 

Lily  was  a  stately  brown  Juno,  and  as  she 
passed  among  the  lesser  women,  wearing  her 
last  year's  white  dress  let  out  in  the  seams 
for  her  glorification,  she  dignified  the  whole 
assembly  j  and  her  little  yellow  husband  knew 
it  well. 

He  knew  it  so  well  that  even  while  he 
dashed  off  waltz  and  polka  measures  from 
his  bow,  he  always  realized  exactly  in  what 
part  of  the  grounds  she  and  the  wee  yellow 
baby  were,  and  once,  when  they  passed  quite 
near  and  Lily  took  the  baby's  hand  and 
waved  it  to  his  "  daddy,"  he  was  so  happy 
that  he  missed  his  time  for  a  minute  and  was 
obliged  to  stop  and  feign  a  sneeze  to  explain 
it;  and  when  a  companion  laughingly  asked 
if  he  sneezed  because  he  was  warm,  he  an 
swered  :  "  Yas  j  I  allus  sneezes  when  I  7m 
warm." 

"You  does  !     Dat  's  mighty  funny." 

"  'T  ain't  no  funnier  'n  you  is." 

"  How  is  I  funny  ? " 


178  UNCLE  STILL'S  FAMOUS 

"  You  so  ogly  till  you  purty.     Dat  's  how !  " 

So  they  chaffed  each  other  till  Apollo,  hav 
ing  recovered  himself,  struck  up  again,  and 
the  dance  went  on. 

Nearly  everybody  on  the  place  had  "  turned 
out "  to  see  the  grove  lighted  up,  even  many 
of  the  old  people,  who  had  not  appeared  at 
the  sugar-house  dances  for  years,  coming  and 
taking  back  seats  to  look  on. 

The  moon  had  risen  round  and  fair  soon 
after  the  dancing  had  begun,  and  the  night 
was  almost  as  white  as  day ;  but  it  was  hot. 
It  was  so  hot  that,  as  old  man  Ctrsar  expressed 
it,  the  *kair  cracked,"  and  at  intervals  there 
was  a  suspicious  twinkle  overhead  late  in  the 
evening— a  twinkle  that  was  felt  rather  than 
seen,  as  if  the  sky  were  blinking.  Old  man 
Still  noticed  it  as  he  sat  within  his  cabin 
window,  and  so  did  'Tild'  Ann,  and  it  made 
her  nervous,  but  she  said  nothing.  Neither 
said  he  anything.  He  had  not  gone  to  the 
dance  because  he  never  went  anywhere,  ex 
cept  occasionally  to  church.  He  went  to 
church  to  enrich  his  mental  vocabulary— so 
'Tild'  Ann  said,  though  not  in  these  exact 
words.  "To  git  book- words  to  think  in" 
was  her  way  of  putting  it.  And  she  boasted, 
too,  that,  when  he  did  go,  he  could  "  look  de 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  179 

preacher  out  o'  countenance  whenever  he  saw 
him  drawin'  it  too  strong"— a  valuable  man 
to  have  in  a  congregation. 

'Tild'  Ann  had  stayed  away  from  the  dance 
because  she  was  afraid  to  go.  If  all  the  signs 
she  had  learned  to  depend  on  during  nearly 
half  a  century  of  life  with  the  hitherto  in 
fallible  prophet  counted  for  anything,  it 
would  rain  to-night,  and  rain  hard.  She  had 
even  felt  it  herself  in  her  left  shoulder-blade 
all  day,  and  would  have  forsaken  her  tubs  at 
any  other  time  than  this.  Of  course  she  had 
been  obliged  to  get  all  her  wash  out  and  the 
things  sent  home  on  this  last  day.  Other 
wise  she  could  not  hope  ever  to  feel  that  her 
work  was  done  during  the  entire  coming 
year,  for  clothes  in  suds  on  New  Year's  day 
mean  clothes  in  suds  the  long  year  through. 
All  the  plantation  people  know  this. 

When  she  saw  the  play  of  light  along  the 
sky  coming  at  shortening  intervals,  and 
presently  heard  a  low  sound  as  of  rumbling 
thunder,  she  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and 
she  rose  from  her  seat,  lighted  a  candle,  and 
went  up  to  her  husband  and  scanned  his 
face. 

"Is  you  los'  yo'  fo'sight,  or  what?"  she 
whispered;  but  seeing  that  he  only  spat  out 


UNCLE  STILUS  FAMOUS 

of  the  window,  she  took  courage  and  went 
back  to  her  place  on  the  door-step,  and  tried 
to  enjoy  the  music  of  the  string-band  and 
the  calling  of  the  figures  as  they  came  dis 
tinctly  to  her  from  the  grove. 

The  clock  had  scarcely  finished  striking 
twelve,  it  being  just  three  minutes  after  "  the 
turn  o'  the  night,"  and  the  drums  and  bugles 
and,  loud  cries  of  '•  Happy  New  Year ! "  and 
"  Hands  all  roun' ! "  were  still  in  the  air, 
when  the  downpour  came. 

To  the  few  who  had  been  watching  with 
out  it  was  no  great  surprise,  though  the  last 
signs  had  come  with  a  rush;  but  to  the 
dancers  it  seemed  as  if  the  moon  had  been 
suddenly  snuffed  out,  and  before  they  could 
turn  around  to  see  who  had  done  it,  the  rain 
was  in  their  faces,  and  in  a  minute  the  whole 
place  was  sopping  wet,  and  it  was  as  "  dark 
as  Egypt." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  run  blindly 
for  shelter,  which  they  did,  most  of  them 
taking  refuge  in  the  sugar-house. 

Of  course  the  supper  was  soaked  and 
spoiled,  nor  was  this  the  worst  of  it.  When, 
after  a  while,  its  sodden  remains  were  brought 
in,  they  were  found  to  be  all  mixed  up  in  the 
wet  meshes  of  the  tarlatan,  that  had  dyed 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  181 

everything  a  vivid  green,  which  everybody 
knows  is  "  rank  pizen,"  and  not  even  fit  for 
dogs. 

If  it  had  not  been  so  hopelessly  warm  there 
might  have  been  a  resurrection  of  joy  and  a 
revival  of  festivities  in  the  sugar-house  even 
yet.  There  would  be  five  hours'  good  dan 
cing  before  daybreak.  Even  as  it  was,  there 
were  several  young  men  and  a  few  of  the 
girls  who  wished  to  "  keep  it  up,"  but  every 
body  knew  how  it  was  with  them.  This 
was  to  have  been  their  "  fatal  night,"  and 
they  had  n't  managed  to  "git  ingaged"  yet. 
Consequently  they  did  not  know  that  it  was 
not  freezing  cold,  or  that  they  were  soaking 
wet. 

No  doubt  the  young  people  made  the  most 
of  their  misfortune,  and  it  is  possible  that 
they  discovered  that  taking  a  girl  home  in 
the  rain,  "totin'  her  shoes  in  their  hands," 
or  perhaps  carrying  her  bodily  over  the 
"washes,"  was  almost  as  favorable  to  the 
speaking  of  last  words  as  is  the  promenade 
between  dances  or  the  seat  in  the  shadowed 
corner  of  the  sugar-house. 

Certainly  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
go  home  now,  and  home  they  went,  nearly 
all  laughing,  but  a  few  in  no  happy  frame  of 


182  UNCLE   STILL'S  FAMOUS 

mind.  Apollo  was  probably  the  most  unhappy 
of  them  all.  It  had  not  occurred  to  him  that 
the  old  man's  prophecy  might  fail  until  the 
rain  descended  and  the  floods  came,  and  he 
was  almost  dazed  over  it  all  yet.  While  they 
waited  under  shelter  for  the  rain  to  subside, 
the  men  were  gathered  in  groups  that  soon 
became  indignation  meetings.  They  had 
been  betrayed,  and  the  more  they  discussed 
it  the  more  angry  they  grew.  Old  man  Still 
was  an  old  man,  it  was  true,  but  so  much 
more  reason  was  there  why  he  should  have 
known  better  than  to  amuse  himself  at  their 
expense,  as  he  had  apparently  done.  Cer 
tainly  Apollo's  story  was  straight.  He  had 
asked  for  advice,  and  he  had  gotten  it  in  the 
most  unequivocal  form—"  by  word  of  mouth." 
Of  course  they  could  n't  punish  the  old  man, 
but  neither  would  they  pass  it  over.  All  the 
Baptist  lanterns  were  reduced  to  little  more 
than  pulp,  and  somebody  would  have  to  pay 
for  them.  After  all,  the  question  soon  re 
solved  itself  into  that  of  fixing  this  responsi 
bility. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  strong  language 
wasted  before  they  separated,  but  it  was  really 
too  hot  to  think  much  about  anything.  The 
belated  winter  arrived  in  the  night,  and  in 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  183 

the  light  of  a  winter  sun  next  morning  the 
waste  in  the  grove  looked  even  worse  than 
they  had  realized  it  to  be.  Apollo  had  risen 
early  and  strolled  over  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  his  "  thinking-cap "  on,  to  see 
how  things  looked ;  and  when  the  men  came 
out  he  had  a  proposition  ready  for  them.  It 
was  this : 

Inasmuch  as  he  had  been  the  bearer  of 
their  petition  for  advice,  and  they  had  met 
disaster  through  his  report,  he  "  wanted 
things  claired  up,"  and  so  he  "  motioned  "- 
showing  that  his  conception  of  the  matter 
was  a  formal  one— he  motioned  that  a  com 
mittee  be  appointed  to  wait  upon  Uncle  Still 
and  to  demand  of  him  some  sort  of  "satis 
faction."  All  who  felt  themselves  specially 
injured  in  the  matter  should  be  free  to  at 
tend  the  "  case/'  and  to  state  their  grievances 
and  to  demand  redress.  They  could  at  least 
"git  jedgment,"  which  was  "satisfaction"  if 
it  was  n't  anything  more. 

The  scheme  was  attractive,  but  it  was  hard 
to  arouse  any  available  enthusiasm  in  it. 
Everybody  said  yes,  but  no  one  offered  to  be 
one  of  the  committee.  They  were  afraid  of 
the  old  man  Still.  Apollo,  standing  boldly 
in  the  redoubt  of  injured  innocence,  was  the 


184  UNCLE   STILL'S  FAMOUS 

only  man  who  had  no  fear  in  the  matter. 
He  argued  bravely  and  at  length,  but  to  no 
purpose.  Then,  suddenly  firing,  he  declared 
that  since  no  one  would  go  with  him,  he 
would  go  alone— dog-gone  ef  he  would  n't. 
He  would  go,  and  he  would  take  Lily  and  the 
baby  with  him  and  make  them  show  how 
they  had  suffered.  Old  man  Still  should  see 
the  limp  remains  of  Lily's  ruffled  dress  and 
"  listen  at  little  'Polio  wheeze,"  yas,  he  should. 
He  was  n't  "afeard  to  talk  up  to  him,"  and 
if  anybody  wanted  to  come  an'  listen,  they 
were  welcome. 

After  thus  declaring  himself,  he  hurried 
home,  and  when  about  noon  he  started  down 
the  road  with  Lily  carrying  the  baby  beside 
him,  half  a  dozen  of  the  older  men,  repenting 
their  timidity,  joined  him,  and  a  number  of 
women  fell  into  line,  giggling  and  shoving 
one  another  as  they  went.  Most  of  these 
dropped  out,  however,  afraid  to  incur  the 
odium  of  appearing  before  the  old  man  in  an 
unfriendly  attitude. 

Apparently  the  news  of  the  intended  visit 
had  preceded  them,  for  when  they  arrived  at 
the  cabin,  'Tild'  Ann  sat  dressed  in  her  Sun 
day  best  beside  her  lord,  and  she  had  drawn 
all  her  chairs  in  a  circle  before  the  fire. 


•'APOLLO   TRIED   TO   SPEAK,  BUT   HE   COULD   NOT." 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  187 

Evidently  she  was  expecting  company,  and 
wished  to  make  them  welcome. 

Apollo,  who  headed  the  line,  hastened  to 
decline  seats  for  his  entire  escort,  however, 
and,  standing  behind  one  of  the  chairs,  while 
they  distributed  themselves  back  of  the  others, 
he  cleared  his  throat  and  began : 

"  Howdy,  Uncle  Still  ?  Howdy,  Aunt  'Tild' 
Ann  ?  I  see  you  bof e  high  an'  dry  dis  morn- 
in',  an'  I  wush  you  a  happy  New  Year. 
Howsomever,  I  come  wid  a  complaint.  I 
hates  to  say  de  word,  but  I  come  wid  a  com 
plaint  o'  jestice  ag'in'  you,  Uncle  Still.  Yas 
sir,  I  say  it  ag'in,  I  is  de  bearer  of  a  com 
plaint  fom  all  de  committees  ag'in'  you.  It 's 
either  you  or  me,  one,  dat  's  'sponsible  for 
all  dat  nasty  mess  out  in  de  grove  dis  morn 
ing  an'  I  know  it  ain't  me" 

As  he  spoke,  'Tild'  Ann  rose,  stepped  a  little 
in  advance  of  her  husband,  and  taking  her 
position,  as  Apollo  had  done,  behind  a  chair, 
she  faced  him  squarely.  Seeing  her  rise, 
Apollo  politely  inclined  his  head,  and  she 
began : 

"Will  you  have  de  kindness  to  state  yo' 
case,  Mr.  Belvedere?  A  wife  is  a  helpmeet, 
an'  helpmeets  has  to  be  moufpieces  when  de 
occasion  requi'es.  State  yo'  case,  an'  I  will 
attemp'  to  answer  you." 


188  UNCLE  STILL'S  FAMOUS 

The  exceeding  formality  of  this  made  it 
interesting.  She  had  held  Apollo  in  her 
arms  when  he  was  a  baby,  and  her  address 
ing  him  as  "  Mr.  Belvedere  "  was  "  going  him 
one  better  "  at  his  own  game.  The  audience 
were  all  impressed.  Some  of  the  women 
were  so  nervous  that  they  heard  their  own 
hearts  beat,  and  the  men  settled  back  to  listen 
as  if  they  had  been  in  court.  But  Apollo 
was  in  no  wise  disconcerted  5  there  was  too 
much  at  stake. 

"Well,  Aunt  'Tild'  Ann,"  he  replied,  as  he 
had  begun,  "dis  is  de  voice  of  my  complaint, 
an'  when  I  speak,  I  speak  f er  all  who  put  dey 
trus'  in  Uncle  Still  las'  night.  Hit  would  be 
a  prodigum  waste  o'  words  fer  me  to  state 
dat  I  has  alias  had  de  utmos'  respec'  fer 
Uncle  Still's  wisdoms  an'  knowledges  which 
he  has  showed  fo'th  f'om  time  to  time.  I 
don't  haf  to  refer  no  further  back  'n  to  de 
top  of  my  baby's  double-crown  head  to  prove 
dat.  When  I  come  heah  a-seekin'  'istiddy 
inornin',  I  b'lieved  in  'im." 

While  he  spoke,  the  old  man  Still  did  not 
wink.  Although  somewhat  back  of  his  wife, 
he  sat  facing  his  accuser;  but  he  might  have 
been  .calmly  surveying  the  moon  through 
Apollo  for  any  sign  he  gave  of  realizing  his 
presence, 


WEATHER  PREDICTION  189 

"Yas,"  Apollo  repeated,. "I  trusted  in  'im. 
An'  when  I  passed  his  word  on,  eve'body 
trusted  in  'im,  an'  what  has  come  to  pass? 
In  place  o'  reapin'  de  reward  o'  faith,  we  ain't 
nothin'  but— nothin'  but  a  slopped-up  laugh- 
in'-stock  in  de  eyes  o'  de  white  Baptists— dat 
what  we  is !  " 

Several  grunts  of  approval  came  from 
behind  Apollo  here.  He  was  doing  well. 

"When  I  come  a-seekin'  insight,"  he  went 
on,  "I  knowed  de  elemints  looked  mighty 
super/?wous  an'  onsettled,  an'  I  was  weak  in 
faith.  All  I  petitioned  Uncle  Still  was  to 
answer  one  single  little  question,  an'  look  like 
he  mought  'a'  gimme  a  straight  answer.  All 
I  craved  to  know  was  what  de  elemints  was 
a-fixin'  to  do— 

"An7  what  did  he  say?"  'Tild'  Ann  asked 
bravely. 

"What  did  he  say?  He  say,  'Put  out  yo' 
lanterns,'  jes  as  plain  as  I  'm  a-sayin'  it  now." 

"  An'  did  n't  de  elemints  put  'em  out  ? " 

The  voice  came  from  behind  her,  and  for  a 
single  moment  'Tild'  Ann  lost  her  composure. 
She  turned  and  faced  her  lord,  but  it  was 
with  him  as  if  he  had  not  spoken. 

And  now  a  light  came  into  her  eyes. 

When  she  turned  to  her  guests  again,  her 
12 


190  UNCLE  STILL'S  FAMOUS 

face  was  quite  serene,  but  there  was  a  note  of 
triumph  in  her  voice,  and  her  eyes  shone  with 
the  light  of  victory,  as  she  said : 

"  Dat  what  I  say.  Ef  de  elemints  ain't  put 
out  yo'  lanterns,  I— I  don'  know  no  better 
way  to  say  it." 

Apollo  tried  to  speak,  but  he  could  not. 
He  knew  himself  vanquished  by  a  quibble, 
but,  for  the  life  of  him,  he  could  not  see  just 
where  it  was. 

Before  he  could  recover  his  bearings  and 
find  a  word,  everybody  was  screaming  with 
laughter.  This  roused  Lily's  spirit.  In  a 
single  stride  she  stepped  forward  and  took 
the  floor.  With  a  quick  shifting  of  her  arm 
for  greater  freedom,  she  even  relegated  the 
infant  Apollo  to  a  secondary  place  upon  her 
hip,  as  she  said  : 

"Sence  you  informs  me  dat  helpmeets  is 
moufpieces,  I  reckon  I  kin  put  in.  All  I  got 
to  say  is  dis : 

"  When  'Polio  fetched  de  word  o'  prophecy, 
seem  like  he  fetched  it  straight,  an'  look  like 
it  's  a  pity  some  o'  you-all  grayheads  did  n't 
have  de  sense  to  read  it. 

"  I  sho  does  hope  dat  befo'  I  gits  to  be  ole 
as  you  is,  I  '11  know  how  to  Distinguish  de 
diif  ence  'twix'  a  prophet  an'  a  lawgiver. 


WEATHER   PREDICTION  191 

"  Come  on,  'Polio,  an'  tote  dis  heavy  chile 
o'  yourn  home,  an'  give  deze  gemmen  time 
to  pass  de  hat  roun'  an'  raise  dat  white-Bap tis' 
money." 

She  put  the  baby  into  her  husband's  arms 
as  she  spoke,  and,  with  her  head  high  in  air, 
strode  out  of  the  door;  but  when  they  were 
in  the  road,  she  actually  held  her  sides  and 
swayed  with  laughter,  as  she  said  : 

"  Seem  like  you  ain't  much  of  a  prophecy- 
reader,  is  you,  ole  man  ? " 

"Well,  I  sesso,  too,"  Apollo  chuckled. 
"Howsomever,  Lily,  honey,  seem  like  you 
ain't  perzac'ly  de  one  to  th'ow  it  up  to  me,  is 
yer?  Yit,  'n'  still,  sence  you  done  argified 
de  case  so  powerful,  of  co'se  I  ain't  gwine 
th'ow  nothin'  up  to  yer,  but  I  was  Jes  a-study- 
in'— " 

"  What  is  you  studyin',  I  like  to  know  1 " 

"  Nothin'  in  p'tic'lar.  I  was  jes  a-thinkin' 
dat  maybe  you  mought  sell  out  dat  secon' 
set  o'  baby  clo'es  to  raise  some  o'  de  money 
to  pay  fer  dem  white-Baptis'  lanterns.  Fer 
Gord  sake,  look  at  little  'Polio  laughin' !  I 
'clare  fo'  gracious,  I  b'lieve  he  onderstan'  de 
joke." 


PICAYUNE:   A  CHILD   STORY 

TCAYUNE  STEVE,  familiarly  called 
Picayune,— age  anywhere  from 
twenty  to  thirty-five,— stood  four 
feet  one  in  his  bare  feet.  At  least,  measured 
against  the  door-frame,  these  were  the  figures. 
But  Steve  objected  to  being  measured  against 
the  door-frame.  He  said  it  "wa'  n't  fair," 
and  when  it  is  seen  that  a  twine  measure 
ment  from  the  top  of  his  woolly  head  follow 
ing  the  outer  curve  of  his  bow-legs  raised  the 
pencil-mark  fully  ten  inches— well,  perhaps 
Steve  was  right. 

He  was  no  doubt  right  as  to  the  divine 
intention  concerning  himself ;  and  the  second 
hand  trousers  which  clad  his  curved  nether 
limbs  were  witnesses  for  the  defense  when 
ever  he  was  charged  with  the  lesser  altitude 
—witnesses,  indeed,  which  Steve  had  more 
than  once  been  known  to  produce  to  his  own 
discomfort,  taking  them  off  and  standing  in 
192 


PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STORY          193 

nature's  chocolate-colored  enameling,  while 
the  friendly  garments  stretched  carefully 
upon  the  floor  gave  their  elevating  testimony. 

This  novel  performance  consisted  in  first 
measuring  the  trousers  and  then  his  own 
body  from  the  waist-line  upward,  adding  the 
results.  By  this  mathematical  process,  in 
deed,  Steve  had  been  known  to  gain  as  many 
as  eighteen  inches — but  then  he  had  cheated. 
The  chalk-line  he  drew  upon  his  own  body 
indicated  a  waist  unduly  long,  while  the 
trousers,  descending  from  a  corpulent  first 
wearer,  were  deep  in  the  crotch,  and  aspired 
nearly  to  his  armpits,  so  that  the  space  of 
several  inches  was  thus  twice  reckoned. 

Another  advantage  Steve  always  claimed 
was  that  his  bushy  hair  should  not  be  pushed 
down.  "My  hair  is  myse'f,"  he  would  pro 
test,  "  des  as  much  as  any  yether  part  o'  me. 
How  kin  any  man  be  counted  tall  when  he  's 
cheated  at  bofe  ends  dat-a-way?"  And  so 
Steve  tried  to  "  get  even  "  by  cheating  in  the 
middle. 

When  questioned  in  regard  to  his  height, 
as  he  constantly  was,  he  would  reply :  "  Well, 
I  ranges  various,  'cordin'  to  fairness  an'  ca'cu- 
lation.  When  I  gits  my  rights,  I  'm  'long 
about  six  foot." 


194          PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD   STORY 

Though  born  long  after  the  close  of  the 
Civil  War,  Steve  had  always  lived  with  his 
mother's  former  mistress,  to  whom  she  had 
tacitly  given  him. 

Violet,  his  mother,  had  been  rather  a  no 
torious  woman  in  her  day,  a  day,  indeed,  that 
though  visibly  waning,  was  not  yet  over. 
There  were  now  living  about  the  country  sev 
eral  portly  women  of  various  complexions  who 
referred  to  her  as  "  mammy,"  and  in  these 
daughters,  although  it  was  a  notable  fact  that 
she  could  live  with  none  of  them,  she  had 
always  taken  especial  pride. 

They  all  wore  gilt  shoes  and  clocked  stock 
ings,  lived  without  work,  "  asked  nobody  any 
odds/'  and  were  "  in  good  and  regular  stand 
ing  in  the  churches." 

What  could  fond  mother  ask  for  more  f 

But  Steve— poor  little  black,  bow-legged, 
simple-minded  Steve,  her  last-born  ugly  duck 
ling—could  count  for  naught  in  her  estimate 
of  life  and  its  values,  and  so  she  had  formally 
cast  him  out. 

And  then  she  had  gone  her  own  gait,  un- 
trammeled  by  family  ties,  whither  nobody 
seemed  to  know  or  to  care. 

When  first  she  had  deserted  Steve  at  the 
homestead  door,  the  fading  garment  of  ante- 


PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD   STORY          195 

bellum  ease  still  lay  loosely  about  the  old 
place. 

It  had  never  been  one  of  the  great  estates, 
and  its  proprietors,  plain,  honest  folk  of  the 
class  commonly  damned  as  "  estimable " 
by  their  more  pretentious  neighbors,  had 
laid  no  claim  to  aristocracy.  Still,  when  in 
a  few  years  the  plantation  passed  from  its 
widowed  owner  into  new  hands,  it  left  her 
possessed  of  traditions  that,  so  far  as  they 
went,  were  equal  to  the  best— traditions  of 
affluence  as  expressed  in  bountiful  living, 
open  doors  and  stables,  and  a  retinue  of  lazy, 
happy-go-lucky  servants,  underworked  and 
overfed;  traditions  held  in  common  with 
such  as  add  to  the  list  a  certain  degree  of 
culture,  travel,  social  discrimination,  and 
world-wisdom. 

Now  the  old  house  was  painted  anew. 
New  people  occupied  it.  New  methods  had 
set  the  old  sugar-house  panting  to  a  quicker 
breath. 

Old  lady  Trowland  never  realized  that 
much  of  the  picturesque  charm  had  passed 
out  with  the  passing  of  the  old  regime.  She 
realized  simply  that  she  had  been  rich  and 
was  now  very  poor,  and  that,  meagerly 
equipped,  she  must  face  the  world  alone. 


196          PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STORY 

When,  at  the  very  last,  the  crowd  of  house- 
servants  had  disbanded,  little  Steve— ugly, 
deformed,  incapable  of  work— was  alone  un 
claimed,  uncared  for. 

Here  was  at  least  one  definite  heritage 
descending  from  the  old  life— an  inheritance 
of  responsibility}  and  as  such  it  had  a  cer 
tain  dignity. 

And  thus  it  was  that  when  finally  the  pale, 
black-gowned  woman  passed  out  the  front 
gate,  down  the  avenue  of  tall  cedars  guard 
ing  the  walk,  little  Steve  toddled  grotesquely 
beside  her. 

Again,  as  so  often  in  life,  Tragedy  and 
Comedy  walked  hand  in  hand. 

The  change  of  home  was  a  simple  one,  and 
the  short  journey  to  the  former  overseer's 
cottage — "a  little  piece  down  the   road"- 
was  taken  on  foot. 

For  several  years  before  she  left  the 
"  great  house "  the  mistress  had  taken  in  a 
little  sewing,  "  having  so  much  time  and 
nothing  to  do "  when  the  war  was  over  and 
the  men  of  her  family  had  not  come  back  to 
her.  It  was  in  this  way,  indeed,  that  she  had 
earned  the  little  ready  money  necessary  for 
the  lubrication  of  the  prevailing  credit  sys 
tem  of  the  county.  But  now  that  there  was 


PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STOEY          197 

not  even  any  ostensible  security,  of  course  this 
had  also  to  pass,  and  the  small  sign  that 
soon  appeared  within  a  window-pane  of  her 
sitting-room,  facing  the  public  road,  was,  to 
him  who  read  it  aright,  a  pathetic  epitome  of 
the  situation.  "Sewing  for  Cash."  Such 
was  its  modest  announcement.  The  "  cash," 
it  is  true,  was  in  this  case  a  variable  com 
modity,  ranging  from  fractional  currency  to 
"  fry  ing-sized  chickens,"  or  small  pails  of 
wild  berries  gathered  from  the  roadside,  or 
bags  of  potatoes  or  Indian  meal.  Some 
times  it  was  even  strained  to  mean  service,— 
wood-chopping,  washing,  or  scouring,— in 
which  cases  payment  was  cheerfully  offered 
in  advance. 

Steve  could  do  little  to  help,  but  he  could 
do  something.  He  could  pick  up  chips,  light 
fires,  draw  out  basting-threads.  Better  than 
this,  he  could  talk  and  he  could  sing,  and 
was  light  of  heart  and  merry.  But  still  best 
in  the  situation,  he  needed  care. 

Summer  after  summer  in  the  long  after 
noon  Steve  played  outside  the  door  with  the 
other  plantation  children ;  for  to  such  as  he 
life  is  but  a  prolonged  childhood.  He  had 
long  ago  been  nine  years  old,  and  he  would 
practically  never  be  any  older. 


198          PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STORY 

As  was  natural,  boy-nature  being  what  it 
is,  Steve  was  somewhat  a  butt  among  the 
youth  of  his  own  color,  and,  indeed,  there 
were  many  times  when  he  was  constrained  to 
appeal  to  his  protector  to  defend  him  against 
them. 

"  Mis'  Annie !  oh,  Mis'  Annie  !  "  he  would 
call  from  the  playground.  "  I  wush-t  you  'd 
step  out  heah  ter  deze  boys !  Dey  a-devilin' 
me  ag'in !  Say  my  legs  makes  O  every -time 
I  puts  my  foots  togedder,  an'  when  I  crosses 
'em,  dey  holler  <  X  ! ' 

"  An'  darin'  me  to  head  off  chickens,  an' 
dey  know  I  can't  head  off  nothin'  lessen  it  's 
too  big  ter  run  th'ough.  An'— an'  dey  ax  in' 
me  if  my  pants  is  cut  out  wid  a  circular  saw 
—an'— an'— an' - 

His  complaint,  once  flowing,  would  gen 
erally  continue  to  pour  itself  out  until  "  Mis' 
Annie"  would  appear  at  the  door,  from 
which,  with  a  mild  reproof,  she  would  disperse 
the  crowd,  and  Steve  would  hobble  indoors. 
Then,  while  he  returned  to  his  basting- 
threads,  he  would  fall  to  moralizing  in  the 
following  innocent  fashion : 

"  Mis'  Annie,  you  know  some'h'n  ?  "  So  he 
began,  one  day,  while  he  mechanically  wound 
the  long  basting- threads  upon  a  "pewee 
stick "  for  a  second  using.  "  You  know 


PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD   STOR*          199 

some'h'n,  Mis'  Annie  ?  Ef — er— I  had  a  baby 
—I  declare,  lis'n  at  nie  a-talkin'  about  havin' 
a  baby,  an'  I  ain't  even  to  say  married,  much 
lessen  havin'  no  baby— but  ef  I  teas  to  have 
a  baby,  an'  anybody  'd  stan'  it  on  its  foots  an' 
make  it  loney  'fo'  its  time,  I  'd— I  'd  purty 
nigh  bus'  his  head  open,  dat  I  would  !  " 

The  virile  wrath  expressed  in  this  volley 
was  a  supreme  effort  of  Steve's  arrested  man 
hood. 

"Why,  Stevie,"  his  mistress  replied,  "I 
thought  you  liked  the  nice  curved  legs  that 
God  gave  you  ? " 

"  So  I  does !  So  I  does,  Mis'  Annie !  Kaze 
I  knows  't  ain't  eve'body  dat  's  got  legs  like  I 
is,  and  I  knows  dey  's  pointedly  special,  and  I 
knows  dey  got  a  double-hinge  back  action  to 
'em,  too,  an'  all  dat.  But  you  see,  my  baby— 
des  a-s'posin',  Mis'  Annie— s'posin'  he  mought 
not  like  deze  heah  circumfence  legs.  (Dat  ;s 
what  de  new  boss  calls  'em,  an'  I  think  it 
sounds  a  heap  purtier  'n  des  common  bow- 
legs.)  Heap  o'  folks  is  bow-legged ;  but  fer 
reg'lar  circumfence  legs,  de  new  boss  he  say  I 
ought  to  have  my  picture  tooken  an'  put  into 
a  book.  You  reckon  anybody  'd  put  my 
picture  in  a  book,  Mis'  Annie,— black  like  I 
is,— an'  no  purtier  'n  dis?" 

"Why,    certainly,    Stevie.       Your    color 


200          PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STORY 

would  n't  have  anything  to  do  with  it,  I  am 
sure.  Would  you  like  to  have  your  picture 
go  into  a  book  ? " 

"  Yas,  'm,  indeedy !  I  reckon  I  would ! 
But  you  know  what  1 'd  like  to  do  ?  Des  de 
minute  dey  'd  git  a  snap  at  me,  I  'd  crave  to 
rise  up  straight  an'  high  on  my  foots,  des  ter 
see  how  I  'd  look.  I  often  wushes  I  could 
h'ist  myself  good  des  once-t,  till  I  could  prove 
dat  top  mark  on  de  do'-sill." 

"  Yes ;  but  maybe  if  you  were  to  straighten 
up,  you  could  n  't  get  down  again— and— 

"An'  maybe  it  's  a  sin  ter  say  it,  Mis' 
Annie,"  he  interrupted  eagerly,  "but  I 
would  n't  keer  much  ef  I  could  n't.  I  dremp 
one  night  I  straightened  out  my  legs  an' 
could  n't  twis'  'em  back  ag'in,  an'  't  was  n't 
sech  a  bad  dream,  nuther." 

"But  think  how  much  fun  you  'd  lose, 
Steve,"  so  proceeded  his  gentle  comforter. 
"  You  could  n't  play  circus  for  the  boys.  Re 
member,  you  are  the  only  fellow  they  have 
who  can  scratch  his  ears  with  his  toes,  or  put 
the  soles  of  his  feet  together  and  rock  like  a 
cradle.  And  then,  too,  if  you  had  straight, 
strong  legs,  maybe  you  would  run  away  and 
leave  me,  and  I  would  be  so  lonely.  I  would  n't 
have  a  nice  little  servant-boy  to  draw  out  my 


PICAYUNE:   A  CHILD   STORY          201 

bastings  and  run  the  sewing-machine  treadle 
for  me  with  his  strong,  willing  hands  when 
my  feet  are  tired." 

"  Um— hm  !  No,  ma'am  !  I  would  n't 
leave  you,  Mis'  Annie.  Did  you  think  I 
stayed  wid  you  on  de  'count  o'  my  bow-legs  ? 
I  would  n't  think  o'  nothin'  else  but  to  stay 
wid  you,  not  ef  I  had  a  million  legs." 

So  little  Steve,  unconsciously  confessing  his 
utter  dependence,  when  he  meant  only  to  avow 
his  loyalty,  would  forget  his  wrongs  so  com 
pletely  that  at  a  first  signal  from  the  boys  he 
would  give  an  answering  whistle  and  bound 
out  again  so  fast  that  sometimes  in  his  eager 
ness  he  would  lift  both  feet  together,  they 
would  cross,  and  down  he  would  tumble  upon 
his  face,  to  the  hilarious  delight  of  the  wait 
ing  crowd,  who  would  gleefully  bear  him 
away  upon  their  shoulders j  and  he  might 
presently  be  seen  perched  upon  a  barrel, 
going  through  his  antics  for  the  amusement 
of  his  tormentors. 

The  coming  of  a  visitor  to  the  plantation 
was  frequently  the  occasion  of  a  special  ex 
hibition,  when  Steve  would  "perform"  with 
more  or  less  ardor  according  to  the  enthusi 
asm  or  apparent  importance  of  the  guest. 

Steve's  reputation  as  a  funny  little  perform- 


202          PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STORY 

ing  freak  had  gone  abroad  through  his  own 
and  adjacent  counties,  and  as  there  was  no 
thing  repulsive  in  his  simple  child-face  or  his 
absurdly  nimble  nether  limbs,  his  " shows" 
were  always  regarded  as  good  fun. 

It  was  perhaps  the  glitter  of  a  brilliant 
scarf-pin  upon  the  breast  of  an  unexpected 
visitor,  at  one  of  these  impromptu  perform 
ances,  that  inspired  Steve  to  his  best  effort 
on  a  certain  memorable  occasion  which  proved 
the  turning-point  in  his  life. 

When  the  show  was  over  the  strange  guest 
of  the  jeweled  pin  put  a  silver  dollar  into  the 
toddling  performer's  little  palm,  and,  engag 
ing  him  in  conversation,  accompanied  him 
home. 

He  had  heard  of  the  boy,  and  had  come 
many  miles  to  see  him.  And  now  he  wanted 
him. 

There  was  money  in  Picayune  Steve's 
"  double-j'inted,  back-action  circumf  ence 
legs"— money  for  the  "  Golden  Star  Museum, 
America's  Greatest  Collection  of  Living  Won 
ders,"  in  New  York  city,  money  for  Steve. 

Old  lady  Trowland  had  all  a  provincial 
woman's  horror  of  everything  connected  with 
stage  life,  and  although  her  poor  protege  had 
proven  himself  impervious  to  learning,  hav- 


PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STORY          203 

ing  barely  mastered  the  intricacies  of  the 
wary  alphabet  after  fourteen  years  of  patient 
teaching,  still  she  feared  lest  he  should  prove 
normally  susceptible  to  vice. 

All  his  life  she  had  guarded  him  against 
contaminating  influences,  her  one  fear  being 
that  he  would  "  go  to  the  bad,"  though  by 
what  circuitous  route  his  crooked  little  legs 
would  carry  him  there  she  had  never  asked 
herself. 

It  is  true  that  many  of  her  prejudices 
against  the  stage  life  were  quickly  dispelled 
by  Mr.  Steinberger's  assurance  that  the  insti 
tution  which  he  had  the  honor  to  represent 
was  conducted  strictly  in  the  interest  of  sci 
ence  and  religion,  and  differed  from  such  as 
the  Smithsonian  in  Washington,  for  instance, 
only  in  exhibiting  living  instead  of  defunct 
marvels. 

This  invested  his  proposition  with  a  certain 
dignity,  no  doubt,  and  yet  certain  it  is  that  if 
it  had  come  at  any  other  time  than  the  pres 
ent  it  would  have  been  unhesitatingly  re 
jected.  But  the  old  lady  had  been  feeling  ill 
of  late.  A  numbness  often  made  her  busy 
fingers  "all  thumbs"  as  she  sewed,  and  she 
would  sometimes  drop  her  needle  for  no  cause 
whatever  j  and  occasionally  she  woke  suddenly 


204:          PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD   STORY 

over  her  work,  not  remembering  when  she 
had  fallen  asleep.  Upon  her  death,  Steve 
must  go  to  his  mother  or  sisters  or  to  the 
poorhouse.  Any  one  of  these  alternatives 
meant  neglect  and  vicious  associations,  if  not 
abuse. 

She  would  think  it  over.  She  had  not 
failed  to  note  with  pleasure  that  during  his 
conversation  Mr.  Steinberger  had  ventured  to 
hope  that  she  would  not  object  to  Steve's  at 
tending  Sunday-school  in  company  with  other 
members  of  his  company— Sunday-school, 
and  the  sacred  concerts  which  were  open  to 
all  worshipers  on  Sabbath  afternoon. 
The  museum  was  situated—  ? 
Oh,  no ;  not  in  a  wicked  street.  Certainly 
not ;  but  in  the  Bowery,  which  from  its  very 
name- 
No,  it  was  not  exactly  a  part  of  Central 
Park.  It  was  much  smaller,  quieter— "in 
every  way  more  elewated.  In  fact,  de  ele- 
wated  tone  perwades  de  untire  Powery— 
tay  und  night." 

This  was  one  of  Mr.  Steinberger's  stock 
jokes,  actually  perpetrated  at  his  burlesque 
Sunday-school  performances  j  but  he  dared  to 
risk  it  here,  and  old  lady  Trowland,  as  she  sat 
in  her  little  parlor  resting  her  elbow  on  a 


PICAYUNE:   A  CHILD   STORY          205 

well- worn  copy  of  "Alexander's  Evidences  of 
Christianity/'  only  smiled  at  the  quaintness 
of  her  guest's  English,  as  she  naively  remarked 
that  she  "presumed  that  Mr.  Steinberger's 
own  family  were  Lutherans." 

"  Orichinally,"  was  the  laconic  reply,  ut 
tered  in  a  pious  voice. 

And  then  he  added :  "  But  dey  don't  shtuck 
to  it  so  close-t  no  more.  Dey  are  wery 
liperal." 

THE  end  is  not  difficult  to  see. 

It  was  soon  noised  abroad  that  Picayune 
Steve  was  going  out  into  the  great  world. 

And  so,  in  due  time,  a  little  sole-leather 
trunk— the  best  the  house  afforded— was 
packed  with  a  full  and  comfortable  wardrobe, 
which  his  benefactress  supplied  from  her 
slender  purse  at  a  definite  cost  of  comfort  to 
herself. 

In  her  sentiment  toward  her  pitiful  little 
protege,  old  lady  Trowland  unconsciously  re 
versed  the  old  legend  of  the  jewel  in  the 
toad's  head.  She  had  loved  to  think  of  this 
poor  little  "crapaud  noir"—so  he  was  often 
playfully  called  along  the  coast— as  trans 
figured  into  a  possible  jewel  which  she  might 
one  day  wear  in  her  own  heavenly  crown,  if, 

13 


206          PICAYUNE:   A  CHILD   STORY 

by  God's  grace,  she  might  be  the  humble 
means  of  making  his  ;'  calling  and  election 
sure." 

There  were  marked  passages  in  the  New 
Testament  of  large  print  which  she  laid  on 
the  very  top  of  the  clothing  in  his  trunk— 
passages  so  simple  that  the  wayfaring  man, 
though  a  fool,  might  not  err  therein.  This 
little  book  Mr.  Steinberger  pressed  to  his 
heart  while  he  promised  that  it  should  be 
read  to  the  boy  every  day. 

Steve's  triumphant  departure  was  a  great 
event  on  the  plantation,  and  when  at  last,  sit 
ting  beside  his  resplendent  patron,  the  small 
boy  drove  down  the  public  road,  there  was 
a  great  farewell  shout  from  the  assembled 
crowd  of  black  fellows  about  the  gate,  many 
of  whom  would,  no  doubt,  in  the  exhilara 
tion  of  the  moment,  have  been  happy  to  change 
legs  with  him  for  his  precarious  journey. 

News  travels  fast,  even  on  a  Southern  plan 
tation.  During  the  few  days  while  Mr.  Stein 
berger  waited  for  Steve  to  be  made  ready,  the 
report  of  the  boy's  prospective  honors  had 
spread  abroad,  and  as  the  carriage  passed  the 
plantations  lying  on  either  side  the  road  en 
route  to  the  station,  there  were  crowds  wait- 


PICAYUNE:   A  CHILD   STORY          207 

ing  by  the  wayside  to  see  it,  and  to  hurl  after 
it  their  blessing,  prodigally  expressed  in  hand- 
fuls  of  rice  and  old  shoes. 

Steve  was  beginning  to  know  himself  for 
a  celebrity  already,  even  before  he  had 
reached  the  depot  and  where  he  found  himself 
the  hero  of  a  most  sensational  little  drama. 

It  was  nearly  train-time  when  he  and  Mr. 
Steinberger  arrived  at  the  station,  and  the 
prospective  passengers  stood  laden  with  their 
small  luggage  upon  the  platform  beside  the 
rail,  awaiting  the  train. 

Mr.  Steinberger  had  bought  tickets  and  was 
stepping  out  with  the  others,  Steve  toddling 
beside  him,  when  from  a  plantation  wagon 
that  rattled  up  to  the  landing  a  huge  colored 
woman  alighted,  and  before  any  one  realized 
her  intention,  she  had  rushed  up  to  the  poor 
bewildered  boy,  clasped  him  to  her  bosom, 
and  begun  to  shriek  aloud : 

"Who  dis  gwine  rob  me  of  my  blessed 
chile  !  Gimme  my  flesh  an'  blood  !  Can't  no 
body  take  my  baby  out  en  my  bosom  lessen— 

Steve  was  pretty  heavy  to  be  carried  in  the 
arms,  and  as  the  hysterical  woman  had  actu 
ally  lifted  him  from  the  ground,  she  soon 
found  herself  breathless  and  panting,  and 


208          PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STORY 

from  sheer  exhaustion  she  dropped  upon  one 
of  the  benches,  still  holding  the  boy  against 
her  breast. 

Steve  had  not  laid  his  eyes  upon  his  fond 
parent  for  several  years,  and  she  had  about 
doubled  in  weight  in  the  interval,  but  he  rec 
ognized  her,  and,  childlike,  he  began  to  cry. 

The  train  was  in  sight.  Steve's  ticket  was 
bought,  his  trunk  checked. 

Mr.  Steinberger  was  a  man  of  business  and 
he  was  quick  of  vision.  At  the  beginning  of 
the  little  scene  between  mother  and  son  he 
had  only  looked  askance  and  pressed  his 
forefinger  upon  his  nose,  but  a  second  glance 
at  the  woman  changed  his  relation  to  the 
affair.  He  stepped  quickly  back  ten  paces  or 
such  a  matter  and  scrutinized  her,  shifted  his 
position  and  examined  her  again  from  the 
new  point  of  view,  and  then,  after  rushing  to 
her  for  a  few  whispered  words,  he  proceeded 
to  buy  a  third  ticket  and  to  secure  a  hand 
ful  of  checks  for  the  numerous  bundles  in  the 
wagon  in  which  she  had  come. 

The  mother,  whose  love  would  not  brook 
the  threatened  separation  from  her  offspring, 
had  come  prepared  to  follow  him. 

No  one  will  ever  know  whether  it  was  a  sub 
sequent  discovery  or  whether  he  had  realized 


PICAYUNE:   A   CHILD   STORY          209 

her  full  value  on  sight,  but  it  was  only  after 
Mr.  Steinberger  had  safely  bestowed  mother 
and  son  within  the  day-coach,  and  found  his 
own  seat  in  the  sleeper,  that  he  was  heard  to 
chuckle,  as  he  clapped  his  jeweled  hand  upon 
his  knee : 

"  He,  he,  he  !  Six  chins,  py  golly  !  But 
dot 's  w'at  I  call  luggy !  For  fife  year  I  haf 
peen  looging  for  a  laty  mid  six  chins !  Und 
now  I  got  her  midout  no  papers  signed,  und 
she  don't  know  de  walue  of  suberfluous  chins 
in  my  pizness  !  He,  he,  he,  he  !  A  poy  as  can 
scratch  his  head  mid  his  toes  is  not'ing  to  a 
laty  mid  six  chins  !  Ho,  ho,  ho,  ho  !  " 

And  Mr.  Steinberger  rubbed  his  hands  to 
gether  with  glee.  And  then  he  pressed  the 
electric  button  at  his  side. 

"Anyhow  I  drink  to  de  six  chins,"  he 
chuckled.  "I  sign  quick  de  papers  as  she 
shall  shtand  mit  her  poy  on  de  blatform  und 
den  I  shpring  de  chins." 

LITTLE  Steve  wears  a  gilded  crown.  His 
diminutive  body  is  gorgeously  clad  in  jacket 
and  breech-cloth  of  scarlet  velveteen  be 
decked  with  tinsel  fringe,  and  he  sits  upon  a 
miniature  throne  in  the  Museum  of  the  Golden 
Star  5  but  Violet  does  not  stand  beside  him. 

13* 


210          PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STORY 

It  was  thought  best  to  make  a  new  com 
bination  by  which  she  soon  found  herself  ad 
vertised  as  twin  sister  to  a  dashing  chinless 
man  from  New  Minister,  who  stood  six  feet 
seven  in  his  boots  and  drew  twenty  dollars  a 
week.  Violet  had  chins  enough  for  both. 
It  was  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight,  and  there 
was  soon  a  real  wedding.  This  romantic 
event  was,  of  course,  never  mentioned  in  the 
bills  when  she  and  her  complementary  spouse 
were  still  announced  as  the  "New  Munster 
Twins,"  with  explanatory  notes  giving  the 
"true"  sensational  story  of  the  confusion  of 
chins  through  a  pre-natal  impression. 

Steve  was  of  age.  Violet  soon  realized  that 
there  was  no  money  in  his  contract  for  her, 
and  she  forthwith  grew  ashamed  of  him  and 
disclaimed  all  relationship  with  him.  And  so 
when  the  little  fellow  was  thrown  in  with  a 
"job  lot"  of  freaks  who  were  sent  to  board 
with  the  "  Living  Mermaid,"  and  Violet  had 
taken  to  a  furnished  apartment— all  Notting 
ham  lace  and  cheap  upholstery— just  off  the 
Bowery,  she  seemed  to  forget  all  about  him. 
She  had,  by  the  way,  learned  somewhat  of  the 
value  of  extra  chins  in  the  meantime,  and 
drew  the  opulent  sum  of  five  dollars  a  week 
apiece  on  all  six. 

When  Mr.   Steinberger  had  demurred  at 


PICAYUNE:   A  CHILD   STORY          211 

this  figure,  she  had  threatened  to  tie  the 
nether  one  inside  her  collar,  and  when  still 
further  provoked,  what  did  she  but  with  a 
quick  puff  seem  to  inflate  the  entire  half- 
dozen  until  they  were  worth  no  more  than  a 
common  goiter  in  the  trade,  which  masterful 
exhibition  of  power  and  fire  brought  the 
manager  to  terms. 

Subsequently,  however,  there  arose  out  of 
her  environment  of  admiration  a  resplendent 
suitor  who  proved  a  fatal  rival  to  Violet's 
chinless  mate,— a  suitor  from  whom  she  could 
draw  a  royalty  on  chins  kept  at  home,— and 
so  there  was  a  general  rupture  of  museum 
contracts,  and  little  Steve's  mother,  already 
gone  quite  out  of  his  life,  passed  forever  be 
yond  his  sight. 

The  first  day  that  the  boy  missed  her  from 
her  accustomed  stand  on  the  platform  oppo 
site  his  own,  he  could  not  have  explained 
why,  but  his  lip  quivered  just  a  little. 

It  is  something  when  one  is  quite  alone 
among  strangers  to  be  able  to  look  over  a  sea 
of  faces  and  simply  to  think,  "  There  is  my 
mother."  If  this  be  all,  it  is  not  much  surely. 
Perhaps  its  full  value  was  expressed  in  the 
slight  momentary  tremor  of  the  boy's  lip 
when  he  knew  that  she  had  gone. 

But  who  shall  say,  when  life  is  most  hope- 


212          PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD   STORY 

less  and  barren,  that  such  an  atmosphere  is 
poison,  this  or  that  flower  a  bane  ? 

There  be  kind  hearts  in  strange  bosom s> 
and  the  "Living  Mermaid"  is  a  maternal 
creature  and  good  to  her  boarders.  Even  the 
double-headed  Chinaman,  who  is  so  disagree 
able  a  sight  to  her  that  she  seats  him  at  meal 
time  at  a  table  behind  her,  will  tell  you  that 
both  his  mouths  are  generously  fed.  He  will 
tell  you  this  with  both  at  once,  indeed,  not 
only  behind  her  back,  but  behind  his  own,  so 
it  must  be  true. 

Herself  only  a  freak  by  courtesy,  she  re 
gards  with  compassion  all  those  who,  when 
their  hours  of  service  are  over,  must  needs 
fetch  their  superfluous  members  or  their  de 
ficiencies  home  with  them.  She,  of  course, 
leaves  the  mermaid's  caudal  appendage  in  the 
tank  and  walks  out  from  behind  the  curtain 
quite  as  other  women,  excepting,  perhaps, 
more  like  rheumatic  women  than  others, 
from  the  strained  position  of  her  limbs  and 
the  chill  of  the  water. 

Even  more  than  all  the  other  curios  of 
her  household,  little  Steve  endears  himself  to 
her.  She  would  probably  care  most  for  him 
simply  because  he  is  the  one  of  lowest  estate 
among  them,  and  the  loneliest,  even  had  he 


PICAYUNE:   A  CHILD   STORY          213 

not  little  ways  of  devotion,  as  when  for  long 
hours  at  a  time  he  is  pleased  simply  to  sit  and 
rub  her  feet  for  her. 

She  does  not  drink  or  smoke  or  even 
swear  in  Steve's  hearing,  though  the  man 
of  the  house,  who  is  not  a  merman,  does  all 
three. 

Every  second  Sunday  is  her  "  day  off  "  from 
tank  duty,  and  on  this  afternoon,  while  Steve 
rubs  her  feet,  she  actually  reads  aloud  a 
chapter  in  his  Testament  to  him. 

She  has  flowing  crimson  hair,  and  Steve 
thinks  she  is  a  goddess,  especially  when  she 
gets  her  fins  and  tail  on,  and  he  could  never 
conceive  of  anything  more  unfitting  than  that 
she  should  willingly  do  wrong. 

Further  than  worshiping  at  the  shrine  of 
this  most  improper  saint,  who,  under  the  un 
defined  influence  of  his  child-heart,  shows 
him  only  her  angel  side,  Steve  will  never  go  to 
the  bad. 

He  enjoys  his  little  throne,  albeit  it  has,  as 
other  thrones,  its  weary  hours. 

He  loves  the  music  of  the  band,  and  is  not 
yet  able  to  refrain  from  giggling  aloud  when 
the  fat  women  mount  their  bicycles. 

He  prides  himself  upon  his  scarlet  coat 
and  golden  fringe.  But  to  him,  as  to  other 


214  PICAYUNE:   A  CHILD   STORY 

children,  these  things  are  simples  with  no 
secondary  meanings  or  dangers. 

Sometimes  he  falls  asleep  in  his  lofty  seat 
and  dreams  of  the  plantation  and  "Mis* 
Annie,"  or  of  his  boy  companions,  fancying 
himself  flying  from  them,  as  he  had  often 
done,  to  an  ambush  of  poison-oak,  where  they 
dare  not  follow  him. 

Rolling  over  and  over  in  its  luxuriant  foli 
age  in  the  old  plantation  days,  he  would 
gather  the  crimson  leaves,  which  held  no 
poison  for  him,  and  hurl  them  at  his  tormen 
tors  until  his  anger  was  spent,  when  he  would 
fall  asleep. 

Old  lady  Trowland  has  long  ago  gone  to 
her  rest.  Fortunately  she  never  knew  of 
Violet's  meeting  with  Steve  at  the  station, 
and  a  letter  from  the  boy,  following  some 
time  after  Mr.  Steinberger's  prompt  announce 
ment  of  safe  arrival,  had  assured  her  that  he 
was  well  and  happy. 

The  Mermaid  had  recognized  sundry  evi 
dences  of  gentle  rearing  in  this  humblest  of 
her  boarders.  She  had  great  respect  for  old 
Mrs.  Trowland,  and  this  first  letter,  written 
with  great  pains,  was  her  supreme  effort. 

Steve  had  wanted  some  poetry  in  the  letter, 
but  such  verses  as  she  suggested  did  not  seem 


PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STORY          215 

to  him  to  quite  fit  the  case.  He  thought  that 
a  certain  one  that  he  called  "Title  Clair" 
would  be  very  suitable,  but  unfortunately 
neither  he  nor  his  amanuensis  could  recall 
the  words. 

Although  dazzled  by  the  brilliant  person 
ality  of  the  claret-colored  divinity,  Steve 
never  hesitated,  under  provocation,  to  pro 
claim  his  first  allegiance  to  the  friend  of  his 
childhood,  as  in  one  instance,  when  the  god 
dess  had  attempted  to  assert  herself  unduly, 
he  startled  her  by  springing  to  his  feet  and 
exclaiming : 

"  I  '11  have  you  know  Mis'  Annie  don't  low 
nobody  to  impose  on  me  !  Don't  keer  ef  you 
is  belle  o'  de  tank— or  whatever ! " 

Whereupon  the  tender-hearted  lady  of  fin 
fame,  after  gasping  a  moment  in  mute  be 
wilderment,  did  forthwith  don  her  gilt  bon 
net  trimmed  with  a  green  parrot  and  solferino 
feathers,  and  sally  forth  down  the  street, 
whence  she  soon  returned  with  a  pink  pop 
corn  ball  and  a  pair  of  campaign  sleeve-but 
tons. 

"  Heer  's  a  bit  of  joolry  for  him,  now,  for 
makin'  him  mad  it  is,"  she  says  coaxingly,  as 
she  lays  them  in  his  hands;  and  the  boy, 
crunching  yesterday's  reluctant  confection, 


216          PICAYUNE:  A  CHILD  STORY 

as  he  laboriously  adjusts  a  button,  says  pres- 
eutly : 

"  I  see  you  walks  tolerable  limpy.  Ef  you 
wants  yo'  foots  rubbed,  you  better  set  down 
an'  take  me  whiles  I  'm  in  de  notion." 

So  peace  is  restored. 

The  wine-tinted  goddess  in  the  bestowal  of 
her  womanly  sympathies  unconsciously  poses 
as  a  saint  while  she  lends  herself  to  the  boy's 
innocent  worship. 

And  he,  stroking  her  great  freckled  foot 
with  his  little  black  hands,  warms  his  own 
heart  as  well. 

Again  the  poison-ivy  is  his  friend.  For 
little  Steve's  heart  is  the  heart  of  a  child. 


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